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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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SlarJcinQfon. 


*Vhe  Gentlemanjnm 
Indiana" 


A  Paramount  Picture.  Monsieur  Beaucaire. 

Bebe  Daniel  as  the  Princess. 
Rudolph  Valentino  as  the  Due  d'  Orleans. 


v&ootf)  cJdr/anoton 


ILUJSTRATED  "WITH  SCENES 

FROM   THE   PHOTOFLAir 
A  PARAMOUNT    PICTURE 


NEWVORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,    IQOO,    BY 

BOUBLEDAY,    PAGE   &   COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 


PS 
\ 
M75 


1125705 


On  returning  to  the  screen  after  an  absence  of 
two  years  Rudolph  Valentino  chose  for  his  vehicle  this 
famous  story  of  romance  and  chivalry,  "Monsieur 
Beaucaire."  He  was  impelled  to  this  choice  by  two 
reasons:  "Monsieur  Beaucaire"  is  the  best  beloved 
story  from  America's  foremost  novelist,  and  in  the 
role  of  the  barber-duke,  Beaucaire,  he  would  portray 
a  character  that  would  give  full  play  to  his  own  genius. 

In  this  Paramount  picture  Mr.  Valentino  is 
supported  by  a  notable  cast  including  such  well 
known  artists  as  Bebe  Daniels,  Lois  Wilson,  Lowell 
Sherman,  Doris  Kenyan,  and  John  Davidson;  and 
every  effort  has  been  made  to  give  the  picture  a  pro- 
duction commensurate  with  the  importance  of  the 
occasion  and  the  merits  of  the  story. 

It  is  Mr.  Valentino's  hope  that  the  readers  of 
this  souvenir  edition  will  obtain  from  the  printed 
romance  as  much  pleasure  as  he  enjoyed  in  trans- 
ferring to  the  screen  the  spirited  events  of  its  pages. 


>HE  young  Frenchman 
did  very  well  what 
he  had  planned  to  do. 
His  guess  that  the 
Duke  would  cheat 
proved  good.  As  the  unshod  half- 
dozen  figures  that  had  been  standing 
noiselessly  in  the  entryway  stole  softly 
into  the  shadows  of  the  chamber,  he 
leaned  across  the  table  and  smilingly 
plucked  a  card  out  of  the  big  Eng- 
lishman's sleeve. 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"Merci,  M.  le  Due!"  he  laughed, 
rising  and  stepping  back  from  the 
table. 

The  Englishman  cried  out,  "It 
means  the  dirty  work  of  silencing  you 
with  my  bare  hands!"  and  came  at 
him. 

"Do  not  move,"  said  M.  Beau- 
caire,  so  sharply  that  the  other  paused. 
"Observe  behind  you." 

The  Englishman  turned,  and  saw 
what  trap  he  had  blundered  into; 
then  stood  transfixed,  impotent,  alter- 
nately scarlet  with  rage  and  white 
with  the  vital  shame  of  discovery.  M. 
Beaucaire  remarked,  indicating  the 
silent  figures  by  a  polite  wave  of  the 
hand,  "Is  it  not  a  compliment  to 
monsieur  that  I  procure  six  large  men 
to  subdue  him?  They  are  quite  de- 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

vote'  to  me,  and  monsieur  is  alone. 
Could  it  be  that  he  did  not  wish  even 
his  lackeys  to  know  he  play  with  the 
yo'ng  Frenchman  who  Meestaire 
Nash  does  not  like  in  the  pomp- 
room?  Monsieur  is  unfortunate  to 
have  come  on  foot  and  alone  to  my 
apartment." 

The  Duke's  mouth  foamed  over 
with  chaotic  revilement.  His  captor 
smiled  brightly,  and  made  a  slight 
gesture,  as  one  who  brushes  aside  a 
boisterous  insect.  With  the  same 
motion  he  quelled  to  stony  quiet  a 
resentful  impetus  of  his  servants  to- 
ward the  Englishman. 

"It's  murder,  is  it,  you  carrion!" 
finished  the  Duke. 

M.  Beaucaire  lifted  his  shoulders 
in  a  mock  shiver.  "What  words! 
3 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

No,  no,  no!  No  killing!  A  such 
word  to  a  such  host!  No,  no,  not 
mur-r-der;  only  disgrace!"  He 
laughed  a  clear,  light  laugh  with  a. 
rising  inflection,  seeming  to  launch 
himself  upon  an  adventurous  quest  for 
sympathy. 

"You  little  devilish  scullion!"  spat 
out  the  Duke. 

"Tut,  tut!  But  I  forget.  Mon- 
sieur has  pursue'  his  studies  of  deport- 
ment amongs'  his  fellow-country- 
men." 

"Do    you    dream    a    soul    in    Bath 

will  take  your  word  that  I — that 
j " 

"That  M.  le  Due  de  Winterset  had 
a  card  up  his  sleeve?" 

"You  pitiful  stroller,  you  stable- 
boy,  born  in  a  stable " 

4 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Is  it  not  an  honor  to  be  born  where 
monsieur  must  have  been  bred?" 

"You  scurvy  foot-boy,  you  greasy 
barber,  you  cutthroat  groom " 

"Overwhelm'!"  The  young  man 
bowed  with  imperturbable  elation. 
"M.  le  Due  appoint'  me  to  all  the 
office'  of  his  househol'." 

"You  mustachioed  fool,  there  are 
not  five  people  of  quality  in  Bath  will 
speak  to  you — 

"No,  monsieur,  not  on  the  parade; 
but  how  many  come  to  play  with  me 
here?  Because  I  will  play  always, 
night  or  day,  for  what  one  will,  for 
any  long,  and  al — ways  fair,  mon- 
sieur." 

"You  outrageous  varlet!  Every 
one  knows  you  came  to  England 
as  the  French  Ambassador's  barber. 
5 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

What  man  of  fashion  will  listen  to 
you?  Who  will  believe  you?" 

"All  people,  monsieur.  Do  you 
think  I  have  not  calculate',  that  I 
shall  make  a  failure  of  my  little  en- 
terprise?" 

"Bah!" 

"Will  monsieur  not  reseat  him- 
self?" M.  Beaucaire  made  a  low 
bow.  "So.  We  must  not  be  too 
tire'  for  Lady  Malbourne's  rout.  Ha, 
ha!  And  you,  Jean,  Victor,  and  you 
others,  retire;  go  in  the  hallway. 
Attend  at  the  entrance,  Frangois.  So; 
now  we  shall  talk.  Monsieur,  I  wish 
you  to  think  very  cool.  Then  listen; 
I  will  be  briefly.  It  is  that  I  am 
well  known  to  be  all,  entire'  hones'. 
Gamblist?  Ah,  yes;  true  and  mos' 
profitable;  but  fair,  al — ways  fair; 
6 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

every  one  say  that.  Is  it  not  so? 
Think  of  it.  And — is  there  never  a 
w'isper  come  to  M.  le  Due  that  not 
all  people  belief  him  to  play  al — ways 
hones'?  Ha,  ha!  Did  it  almos*  be 
said  to  him  las'  year,  after  when  he 
play'  with  Milor'  Tappin'ford  at  the 
chocolate-house ' ' 

"You  dirty  scandal-monger!"  the 
Duke  burst  out.  "I'll " 

"Monsieur,  monsieur!"  said  the 
Frenchman.  "It  is  a  poor  valor  to 
insult  a  helpless  captor.  Can  he  re- 
tort upon  his  own  victim?  But  it  is 
for  you  to  think  of  what  I  say. 
True,  I  am  not  reco'nize  on  the  pa- 
rade; that  my  frien's  who  come  here 
do  not  present  me  to  their  ladies; 
that  Meestaire  Nash  has  reboff  me 
in  the  pomp-room;  still,  am  I  not 
7 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

known  for  being  hones'  and  fair  in 
my  play,  and  will  I  not  be  belief, 
even  I,  when  I  HP  my  voice  and 
charge  you  aloud  with  what  is  al- 
ready w'isper'?  Think  of  it!  You 
are  a  noble,  and  there  will  be  some 
hang-dogs  who  might  not  fall  away 
from  you.  Only  such  would  be  lef 
to  you.  Do  you  want  it  tol'?  And 
you  can  keep  out  of  France,  mon- 
sieur? I  have  lef  his  service,  but  I 
have  still  the  ear  of  M.  de  Mirepoix, 
and  he  know'  I  never  lie.  Not  a 
gentleman  will  play  you  when  you 
come  to  Paris." 

The  Englishman's  white  lip  showed 
a  row  of  scarlet  dots  upon  it.  "How 
much  do  you  want?"  he  said. 

The  room  rang  with  the  gay 
laughter  of  Beaucaire.  "I  hoi*  your 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

note'  for  seven-hunder'  pound'.  You 
can  have  them,  monsieur.  Why  does 
a  such  great  man  come  to  play  M. 
Beaucaire?  Because  no  one  else  will- 
in'  to  play  M.  le  Due — he  cannot 
pay.  Ha,  ha!  So  he  come'  to  good 
Monsieur  Beaucaire.  Money,  ha, 
ha!  What  I  want  with  money?" 

His  Grace  of  Winterset's  features 
were  set  awry  to  a  sinister  pattern. 
He  sat  glaring  at  his  companion  in  a 
snarling  silence. 

"Money?  Pouf!"  snapped  the 
little  gambler.  "No,  no,  no!  It  is 
that  M.  le  Due,  impoverish',  some- 
what in  a  bad  odor  as  he  is,  yet  com- 
mand the  entree  <2#y-where — onless 
I —  Ha,  ha!  Eh,  monsieur?" 

"Ha!    You    dare    think    to    force 

-*,„         » 
me 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

M.  Beaucaire  twirled  the  tip  of  his 
slender  mustache  around  the  end  of 
his  white  forefinger.  Then  he  said: 
"Monsieur  and  me  goin'  to  Lady 
Malbourne's  ball  to-night — M.  le  Due 
and  me!" 

The  Englishman  roared,  "Curse 
your  impudence!'* 

"Sit  quiet.  Oh,  yes,  that's  all; 
we  goin'  together." 

"No!" 

"Certain.  I  make  all  my  little 
plan'.  'Tis  all  arrange'."  He  paused, 
and  then  said  gravely,  "You  goin' 
present  me  to  Lady  Mary  Carlisle." 

The  other  laughed  in  utter  scorn. 
"Lady  Mary  Carlisle,  of  all  women 
alive,  would  be  the  first  to  prefer  the 
devil  to  a  man  of  no  birth,  barber." 

!"Tis  all  arrange';  have  no  fear; 
IP 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

nobody  question  monsieur's  guest. 
You  goin'  take  me  to-night 

"No!" 

"Yes.  And  after — then  /  have  the 
entree.  Is  it  much  I  ask?  This  one 
little  favor,  and  I  never  w'isper,  never 
breathe  that — it  is  to  say,  I  am  al- 
ways forever  silent  of  monsieur's  mis- 
fortune." 

"You  have  the  entree  /"  sneered 
the  other.  "Go  to  a  lackeys'  rout 
and  dance  with  the  kitchen  maids. 
If  I  would,  I  could  not  present  you 
to  Bath  society.  I  should  have  car- 
tels from  the  fathers,  brothers,  and 
lovers  of  every  wench  and  madam  in 
the  place,  even  I.  You  would  be 
thrust  from  Lady  Malbourne's  door 
five  minutes  after  you  entered  it." 

"No,  no,  no!" 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Half  the  gentlemen  in  Bath  have 
been  here  to  play.  They  would 
know  you,  wouldn't  they,  fool? 
You've  had  thousands  out  of  Ban- 
tison,  Rakell,  Guilford,  and  Town- 
brake.  They  would  have  you  lashed 
by  the  grooms  as  your  ugly  deserts 
are.  You  to  speak  to  Lady  Mary 
Carlisle!  'Od's  blood!  You!  Also, 
dolt,  she  would  know  you  if  you  es- 
caped the  others.  She  stood  within 
a  yard  of  you  when  Nash  expelled 
you  the  pump-room." 

M.  Beaucaire  flushed  slightly. 
"You  think  I  did  not  see?"  he 
asked. 

"Do  you  dream  that  because 
Winterset  introduces  a  low  fellow  he 
will  be  tolerated — that  Bath  will  re- 
ceive a  barber?" 

12 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"I  have  the  distinction  to  call 
monsieur's  attention,"  replied  the 
young  man  gayly,  "I  have  renounce' 
that  profession." 

"Fool!" 

"  I  am  now  a  man  of  honor ! " 

"Faugh!" 

"A  man  of  the  parts,"  continued  the 
the  young  Frenchman,  "and  of  de- 
portment; is  it  not  so?  Have  you 
seen  me  of  a  fluster,  or  gross  ever,  or, 
what  sail  I  say — bourgeois?  Shall 
you  be  shame'  for  your  guest'  man- 
ner? No,  no!  And  my  appearance, 
is  it  of  the  people?  Clearly,  no.  Do 
I  not  compare  in  taste  o/  apparel 
with  your  yo'ng  Englishman?  Ha, 
ha!  To  be  hope'.  Ha,  ha!  So  I 
am  goin'  talk  with  Lady  Mary  Car- 
lisle." 

13 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"Bah!"  The  Duke  made  a  sav- 
age burlesque.  "'Lady  Mary  Carlisle, 
may  I  assume  the  honor  of  presenting 
the  barber  of  the  Marquis  de  Mire- 
poix?'  So,  is  it?" 

"No,  monsieur,"  smiled  the  young 
man.  "Quite  not  so.  You  shall 
have  nothing  to  worry  you,  nothing 
in  the  worl'.  I  am  goin'  to  assassi- 
nate my  poor  mustachio — also  remove 
this  horrible  black  peruke,  and  emerge 
in  my  own  hair.  Behol'!"  He 

swept  the  heavy  curled,  mass  from 
his  head  as  he  spoke,  and  his  hair, 
coiled  under  the  great  wig,  fell  to  his 
shoulders,  and  sparkled  yellow  in  the 
candle-light.  He  tossed  his  head  to 
shake  the  hair  back  from  his  cheeks. 
"When  it  is  dress',  I  am  transform'; 
nobody  can  know  me;  you  shall  ob- 
14 


•a 


•I 

1 

.<" 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

serve.  See  how  little  I  ask  of  you, 
how  very  little  bit.  No  one  shall  rec- 
o'nize  'M.  Beaucaire'  or  'Victor.' 
Ha,  ha!  Tis  all  arrange';  you  have 
nothing  to  fear." 

"Curse  you,"  said  the  Duke,  "do 
you  think  I'm  going  to  be  saddled 
with  you  wherever  I  go  as  long  as 
you  choose?" 

"A  mistake.  No.  All  I  requi — 
All  I  beg — is  this  one  evening.  'Tis 
all  shall  be  necessary.  After,  I  shall 
not  need  monsieur." 

"Take  heed  to  yourself— after!" 
vouchsafed  the  Englishman  between 
his  teeth. 

"Conquered!"  cried  M.  Beau- 
caire, and  clapped  his  hands  gleefully. 
"Conquered  for  the  night!  Aha,  it 
is  riz'nable!  I  shall  meet  what  you 
15 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

send — after.  One  cannot  hope  too 
much  of  your  patience.  It  is  but 
natural  you  should  attemp'  a  little 
avengement  for  the  rascal  trap  I  was 
such  a  wicked  fellow  as  to  set  for  you. 
I  shall  meet  some  strange  frien's  of 
yours  after  to-night;  not  so?  I  must 
try  to  be  not  too  much  frighten'." 
He  looked  at  the  Duke  curiously. 
"You  want  to  know  why  I  create 
this  tragedy,  why  I  am  so  unkind  as 
to  entrap  monsieur?" 

His  Grace  of  Winterset  replied 
with  a  chill  glance;  a  pulse  in  the 
nobleman's  cheek  beat  less  relentlessly; 
his  eye  raged  not  so  bitterly;  the 
steady  purple  of  his  own  color  was 
returning;  his  voice  was  less  hoarse; 
he  was  regaining  his  habit.  '  'Tis 
ever  the  manner  of  the  vulgar,"  he 

16 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

observed,   "to   wish   to   be  seen   with 
people  of  fashion." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!"  The  French- 
man laughed.  '  Tis  not  that.  Am 
I  not  already  one  of  these  'men  of 
fashion'?  I  lack  only  the  reputation 
of  birth.  Monsieur  is  goin'  sup- 
ply that.  Ha,  ha!  I  shall  be  noble 
from  to-night.  'Victor,'  the  artis', 
is  condemn'  to  death;  his  throat  shall 
be  cut  with  his  own  razor.  'M. 
Beaucaire' —  Here  the  young  man 
sprang  to  his  feet,  caught  up  the 
black  wig,  clapped  into  it  a  dice-box 
from  the  table,  and  hurled  it  vio- 
lently through  the  open  door.  "M. 
Beaucaire'  shall  be  choke'  with  his 
own  dice-box.  Who  is  the  Phoenix 
to  remain?  What  advantage  have  I 
not  over  other  men  of  rank  who  are 
'7 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

merely  born  to  it?  I  may  choose  my 
own.  No!  Choose  for  me,  mon- 
sieur. Shall  I  be  chevalier,  comte, 
vicomte,  marquis,  what?  None. 
Out  of  compliment  to  monsieur  can 
I  wish  to  be  anything  he  is  not?  No, 
no!  I  shall  be  M.  le  Due,  M.  le 
Due  de — de  Chateaurien.  Ha,  ha! 
You  see?  You  are  my  confrere" 

M.  Beaucaire  trod  a  dainty  step  or 
two,  waving  his  hand  politely  to  the 
Duke,  as  though  in  invitation  to  join 
the  celebration  of  his  rank.  The  Eng- 
lishman watched,  his  eye  still  and 
harsh,  already  gathering  in  craftiness. 
Beaucaire  stopped  suddenly.  "But 
how  I  forget  my  age!  I  am  twenty- 
three,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "I  re- 
joice too  much  to  be  of  the  quality. 
It  has  been  too  great  for  me,  and  I 

18 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

had  always  belief  myself  free  of  such 
ambition.  I  thought  it  was  enough 
to  behol'  the  opera  without  wishing 
to  sing;  but  no,  England  have  teach* 
me  I  have  those  vulgar  desire'.  Mon- 
sieur, I  am  goin'  tell  you  a  secret; 
the  ladies  of  your  country  are  very 
diff'runt  than  ours.  One  may  adore 
the  demoiselle,  one  must  worship  the 
lady  of  England.  Our  ladies  have  the 
— it  is  the  beauty  of  youth;  yours  re- 
main comely  at  thirty.  Ours  are 
flowers,  yours  are  stars!  See,  I  be- 
tray myself,  I  am  so  poor  a  patriot. 
And  there  is  one  among  these  stars — 
ah,  yes,  there  is  one — the  poor  French- 
man has  observe'  from  his  humble 
distance;  even  there  he  could  bask  in 
the  glowing!"  M.  Beaucaire  turned 
to  the  window,  and  looked  out  into 

'9 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

the  dark.  He  did  not  see  the  lights 
of  the  town.  When  he  turned  again, 
he  had  half  forgotten  his  prisoner; 
other  pictures  were  before  him. 

"Ah,  what  radiance!"  he  cried. 
"Those  people  up  over  the  sky,  they 
want  to  show  they  wish  the  earth  to 
be  happy,  so  they  smile,  and  make 
this  lady.  Gold-haired,  an  angel  of 
heaven,  and  yet  a  Diana  of  the  chase! 
I  see  her  fly  by  me  on  her  great 
horse  one  day;  she  touch'  his  mane 
with  her  fingers.  I  buy  that  clipping 
from  the  groom.  I  have  it  here  with 
my  dear  brother's  picture.  Ah,  you! 
Oh,  yes,  you  laugh!  What  do  you 
know!  'Twas  all  I  could  get.  But 
I  have  heard  of  the  endeavor  of  M. 
le  Due  to  recoup  his  fortunes.  This 
alliance  shall  fail.  It  is  not  the  way 

20 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

— that  heritage  shall  be  safe'  from 
him!  It  is  you  and  me,  monsieur! 
You  can  laugh!  The  war  is  open', 
and  by  me!  There  is  one  great  step 
taken:  until  to-night  there  was  noth- 
ing for  you  to  ruin,  to-morrow  you 
have  got  a  noble  of  France — your 
own  protege — to  besiege  and  sack. 
And  you  are  to  lose,  because  you 
think  such  ruin  easy,  and  because 
you  understand  nothing — far  less — of 
divinity.  How  could  you  know? 
You  have  not  the  fiber;  the  heart  of 
a  lady  is  a  blank  to  you;  you  know 
nothing  of  the  vibration.  There  are 
some  words  that  were  made  only  to 
tell  of  Lady  Mary,  for  her  alone — 
bellissima,  divine,  glorieuse!  Ah,  how 
I  have  watch'  her!  It  is  sad  to  me 
when  I  see  her  surround'  by  your 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

yo'ng  captains,  your  nobles,  your  rat- 
tles, your  beaux — ha,  ha! — and  I 
mus'  hoP  far  aloof.  It  is  sad  for  me 
— but  oh,  jus'  to  watch  her  and  to 
wonder!  Strange  it  is,  but  I  have  al- 
mos'  cry  out  with  rapture  at  a  look  I 
have  see'  her  give  another  man,  so 
beautiful  it  was,  so  tender,  so  dazzling 
of  the  eyes  and  so  mirthful  of  the 
lips.  Ah,  divine  coquetry!  A  look 
for  another,  ah-i-mel  for  many  oth- 
ers; and  even  to  you,  one  day,  a  rose, 
while  I — I,  monsieur,  could  not  even 
be  so  blessed  as  to  be  the  groun'  be- 
neath her  little  shoe!  But  to-night^ 
monsieur — ha,  ha! — to-night l,  mon- 
sieur, you  and  me,  two  princes,  M.  le 
Due  de  Winterset  and  M.  le  Due  de 
Chateaurien — ha,  ha!  you  see? — we 
are  goin'  arm-in-arm  to  that  ball,  and 

22 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

7  am  goin'  have  one  of  those  looks, 
77  And  a  rose!  77  It  is  time. 
But  ten  minute',  monsieur.  I  make 
my  apology  to  keep  you  waitin'  so 
long  while  I  go  in  the  nex'  room  and 
execute  my  poor  mustachio — that 
will  be  my  only  murder  for  jus'  this 
one  evening — and  inves'  myself  in 
white  satin.  Ha,  ha!  I  shall  be  very 
gran',  monsieur.  Frangois,  send  Louis 
to  me;  Victor,  to  order  two  chairs 
for  monsieur  and  me;  we  are  goin' 
out  in  the  worl'  to-night!" 


iHE    chairmen    swarmed 
x    |   i  ,\  in  the   street    at  Lady 
y  I      \  Malbourne's  door, 

$  M  /^^  where  the  joyous  vul- 
gar fought  with  mud- 
dled footmen  and  tipsy  link-boys  for 
places  of  vantage  whence  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  quality  and  of  raiment 
at  its  utmost.  Dawn  was  in  the  east, 
and  the  guests  were  departing.  Singly 
or  in  pairs,  glittering  in  finery,  they 
came  mincing  down  the  steps,  the 
24 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

ghost  of  the  night's  smirk  fading  to 
jadedness  as  they  sought  the  dark  re- 
cesses of  their  chairs.  From  within 
sounded  the  twang  of  fiddles  still 
swinging  manfully  at  it,  and  the  win- 
dows were  bright  with  the  light  of 
many  candles.  When  the  door  was 
flung  open  to  call  the  chair  of  Lady 
Mary  Carlisle,  there  was  an  eager 
pressure  of  the  throng  to  see. 

A  small,  fair  gentleman  in  white 
satin  came  out  upon  the  steps,  turned 
and  bowed  before  a  lady  who  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway,  a  lady  whose 
royal  loveliness  was  given  to  view  for 
a  moment  in  that  glowing  frame. 
The  crowd  sent  up  a  hearty  English 
cheer  for  the  Beauty  of  Bath. 

The  gentleman  smiled  upon  them 
delightedly.  "What  enchanting  peo- 
25 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

pie!"  he  cried.  "Why  did  I  not 
know,  so  I  might  have  shout'  with 
them?"  The  lady  noticed  the  peo- 
ple not  at  all;  whereat,  being  pleased, 
the  people  cheered  again.  The  gen- 
tleman offered  her  his  hand;  she 
made  a  slow  courtesy;  placed  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  upon  his  own.  "I 
am  honored,  M.  de  Chateaurien,"  she 
said. 

"No,  no!"  he  cried  earnestly. 
"Behol'  a  poor  Frenchman  whom 
emperors  should  envy."  Then  rever- 
ently and  with  the  pride  of  his  gal- 
lant office  vibrant  in  every  line  of  his 
light  figure,  invested  in  white  satin 
and  very  grand,  as  he  had  prophesied, 
M.  le  Due  de  Chateaurien  handed 
Lady  Mary  Carlisle  down  the  steps, 
an  achievement  which  had  figured  in 

26 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

the  ambitions  of  seven  other  gentle- 
men during  the  evening. 

"Am  I  to  be  lef*  in  such  on- 
happiness?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"That  rose  I  have  beg'  for  so 
long— 

"Never!"  said  Lady  Mary. 

"Ah,  I  do  not  deserve  it,  I  know 
so  well!  But " 

"Never!" 

"It  is  the  greatness  of  my  on- 
worthiness  that  alone  can  claim  your 
charity;  let  your  kin'  heart  give  this 
little  red  rose,  this  great  alms,  to  the 
poor  beggar." 

"Never!" 

She  was  seated  in  the  chair.  "Ah, 
give  the  rose,"  he  whispered.  Her 
beauty  shone  dazzlingly  on  him  out  of 
the  dimness. 

27 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 
/ 

" Never!"   she   flashed   defiantly   as 
she  was  closed  in.     "Never!" 
"Ah!" 
"Never!" 
The  rose  fell  at  his  feet. 

"A  rose  lasts  tfil  morning,"  said  a 
voice  behind  him. 

Turning,  M.  de  Chateaurien  looked 
beamingly  upon  the  face  of  the  Duke 
of  Winterset. 

"Tis  already  the  daylight,"  he 
replied,  pointing  to  the  east.  "Mon- 
sieur, was  it  not  enough  honor  for 
you  to  han'  out  madame,  the  aunt  of 
Lady  Mary?  Lady  Rellerton  retain' 
much  trace  of  beauty.  'Tis  strange 
you  did  not  appear  more  happy." 

"The  rose  is  of  an  unlucky  color, 
I  think,"  observed  the  Duke. 
28 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"The  color  of  a  blush,  my  brother." 

"Unlucky,  I  still  maintain,"  said 
the  other  calmly. 

"The  color  of  the  veins  of  a 
Frenchman.  Ha,  ha!"  cried  the 
young  man.  "What  price  would  be 
too  high?  A  rose  is  a  rose!  A  good- 
night, my  brother,  a  good-night.  I 
wish  you  dreams  of  roses,  red  roses, 
only  beautiful  red,  red  roses!" 

"Stay!  Did  you  see  the  look  she 
gave  these  street  folk  when  they 
shouted  for  her?  And  how  are  you 
higher  than  they,  when  she  knows? 
As  high  as  yonder  horse-boy!" 

"Red  roses,  my  brother,  only  roses. 
I  wish  you  dreams  of  red,  red  roses!" 


•iWAS  well  agreed  by 
the  fashion  of  Bath 
that  M.  le  Due  de 
Chateaurien  was  a  per- 
son of  sensibility  and 
haut  ton;  that  his  retinue  and  equipage 
surpassed  in  elegance;  that  his  person 
was  exquisite,  his  manner  engaging. 
In  the  company  of  gentlemen  his 
ease  was  slightly  tinged  with  gra- 
ciousness  (his  single  equal  in  Bath  be- 
ing his  Grace  of  Winterset);  but  it 
30 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

was  remarked  that  when  he  bowed 
over  a  lady's  hand,  his  air  bespoke 
only  a  gay  and  tender  reverence. 

He  was  the  idol  of  the  dowagers 
within  a  week  after  his  appearance; 
matrons  warmed  to  him;  young  belles 
looked  sweetly  on  him,  while  the 
gentlemen  were  won  to  admira- 
tion or  envy.  He  was  of  prodi- 
gious wealth:  old  Mr.  Bicksit,  who 
dared  not,  for  his  fame's  sake,  fail  to 
have  seen  all  things,  had  visited  Cha- 
teaurien  under  the  present  Duke's 
father,  and  descanted  to  the  curious 
upon  its  grandeurs.  The  young  noble 
had  one  fault,  he  was  so  poor  a  gam- 
bler. He  cared  nothing  for  the  haz- 
ards of  a  die  or  the  turn  of  a  card. 
Gayly  admitting  that  he  had  been 
born  with  no  spirit  of  adventure  in 
31 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

him,  he  was  sure,  he  declared,  that 
he  failed  of  much  happiness  by  his 
lack  of  taste  in  such  matters. 

But  he  was  not  long  wanting  the 
occasion  to  prove  his  taste  in  the  mat- 
ter of  handling  a  weapon.  A  cer- 
tain led-captain,  Rohrer  by  name,  no- 
torious, amongst  other  things,  for 
bearing  a  dexterous  and  bloodthirsty 
blade,  came  to  Bath  post-haste,  one 
night,  and  jostled  heartily  against  him 
in  the  pump-room  on  the  following 
morning.  M.  de  Chauteaurien  bowed, 
and  turned  aside  without  offense,  con- 
tinuing a  conversation  with  some 
gentlemen  near  by.  Captain  Rohrer 
jostled  against  him  a  second  time.  M. 
de  Chateaurien  looked  him  in  the 
eye,  and  apologized  pleasantly  for  be- 
ing so  much  in  the  way.  Thereupon 
32 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

Rohrer  procured  an  Introduction  to 
him,  and  made  some  observations  de- 
rogatory to  the  valor  and  virtue  of 
the  French. 

There  was  current  a  curious  piece 
of  gossip  of  the  French  court:  a 
prince  of  the  blood  royal,  grandson 
of  the  late  Regent  and  second  in  the 
line  of  succession  to  the  throne  of 
France,  had  rebelled  against  the  au- 
thority of  Louis  XV,  who  had  com- 
manded him  to  marry  the  Princess 
Henriette,  cousin  to  both  of  them. 
The  princess  was  reported  to  be 
openly  devoted  to  the  cousin  who  re- 
fused to  accept  her  hand  at  the  bid- 
ding of  the  king;  and,  as  rumor  ran, 
the  prince's  caprice  elected  in  prefer- 
ence the  discipline  of  Vincennes,  to 
which  retirement  the  furious  king 
33 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

had  consigned  him.  The  story  was 
the  staple  gossip  of  all  polite  Europe; 
and  Captain  Rohrer,  having  in  his 
mind  a  purpose  to  make  use  of  it  in 
leading  up  to  a  statement  that  should 
be  general  to  the  damage  of  all 
Frenchwomen,  and  which  a  French- 
man might  not  pass  over  as  he  might 
a  jog  of  the  elbow,  repeated  it  with 
garbled  truths  to  make  a  scandal  of  a 
story  which  bore  none  on  a  plain  rela- 
tion. 

He  did  not  reach  his  deduction. 
M.  de  Chateaurien,  breaking  into  his 
narrative,  addressed  him  very  quietly. 
"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "none  but 
swine  deny  the  nobleness  of  that  good 
and  gentle  lady,  Mademoiselle  la 
Princesse  de  Bourbon-Conti.  Every 
Frenchman  know'  that  her  cousin  is 

34 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

a  bad  rebel  and  ingrate,  who  had  only 
honor  and  rispec'  for  her,  but  was  so 
wilful  he  could  not  let  even  the  king 
say,  'You  shall  marry  here,  you  shall 
marry  there/  My  frien's,"  the  young 
man  turned  to  the  others,  "may  I  ask 
you  to  close  roun'  in  a  circle  for  one 
moment?  It  is  clearly  shown  that 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  is  a  scurvy  fel- 
low, but  not — "  he  wheeled  about 
and  touched  Captain  Rohrer  on  the 
brow  with  the  back  of  his  gloved 
hand — "but  not  so  scurvy  as  thou, 
thou  swine  of  the  gutter !" 

Two  hours  later,  with  perfect  ease, 
he  ran  Captain  Rohrer  through  the 
left  shoulder — after  which  he  sent  a 
basket  of  red  roses  to  the  Duke  of 
Winterset.  In  a  few  days  he  had 
another  captain  to  fight.  This  was  a 
35 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

ruffling  buck  who  had  the  astounding 
indiscretion  to  proclaim  M.  de  Cha- 
teaurien  an  impostor.  There  was  no 
Chateaurien,  he  swore.  The  French- 
man laughed  in  his  face,  and,  at  twi- 
light of  the  same  day,  pinked  him 
carefully  through  the  right  shoulder. 
It  was  not  that  he  could  not  put  aside 
the  insult  to  himself,  he  declared  to 
Mr.  Molyneux,  his  second,  and  the 
few  witnesses,  as  he  handed  his  wet 
sword  to  his  lackey — one  of  his  sta- 
tion could  not  be  insulted  by  a  doubt 
of  that  station — but  he  fought  in  the 
quarrel  of  his  friend  Winterset.  This 
rascal  had  asserted  that  M.  le  Due 
had  introduced  an  impostor.  Could 
he  overlook  the  insult  to  a  friend,  one 
to  whom  he  owed  his  kind  recep- 
tion in  Bath?  Then,  bending  over 
36 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

his  fallen  adversary,  he  whispered: 
"Naughty  man,  tell  your  master  find 
some  better  quarrel  for  the  nex'  he 
sen'  agains'  me." 

The  conduct  of  M.  de  Chateaurien 
was  pronounced  admirable. 

There  was  no  surprise  when  the 
young  foreigner  fell  naturally  into  the 
long  train  of  followers  of  the  beauti- 
ful Lady  Mary  Carlisle,  nor  was  there 
great  astonishment  that  he  should  ob- 
tain marked  favor  in  her  eyes,  shown 
so  plainly  that  my  Lord  Townbrake, 
Sir  Hugh  Guilford,  and  the  rich 
Squire  Bantison,  all  of  whom  had  fol- 
lowed her  through  three  seasons,  swore 
with  rage,  and  his  Grace  of  Winter- 
set  stalked  from  her  aunt's  house  with 
black  brows. 

Meeting  the  Duke  there  on  the 
37 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

evening  after  his  second  encounter 
de  Chateaurien  smiled  upon  him  bril- 
liantly. "It  was  badly  done;  oh,  so 
badly!"  he  whispered.  "Can  you 
afford  to  have  me  strip'  of  my  mask 
by  any  but  yourself?  You,  who  in- 
troduce' me?  They  will  say  there  is 
some  bad  scandal  that  I  could  force 
you  to  be  my  god-father.  You  mus* 
get  the  courage  yourself." 

"I  told  you  a  rose  had  a  short 
life,"  was  the  answer. 

"Oh,  those  roses!  'Tis  the  very 
greates'  rizzon  to  gather  each  day  a 
fresh  one."  He  took  a  red  bud  from 
his  breast  for  an  instant,  and  touched 
it  to  his  lips. 

"M.  de  Chateaurien!"  It  was 
Lady  Mary's  voice;  she  stood  at  a 
table  where  a  vacant  place  had  been 
38 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

left  beside  her.  "M.  de  Chateaurien, 
we  have  been  waiting  very  long  for 
you." 

The  Duke  saw  the  look  she  did 
not  know  she  gave  the  Frenchman, 
and  he  lost  countenance  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"We  approach  a  climax,  eh,  mon- 
sieur?" said  M.  de  Chateaurien. 


'HERE  fell  a  clear  Sep- 
tember night,  when 
the  moon  was  radiant 
over  town  and  coun- 
try, over  cobbled  streets 
and  winding  roads.  From  the  fields 
the  mists  rose  slowly,  and  the  air 
was  mild  and  fragrant,  while  dis- 
tances were  white  and  full  of  mys- 
tery. All  of  Bath  that  pretended  to 
fashion  or  condition  was  present  that 

evening  at  a  Jete  at  the  house  of  a 

40 


MONSIEUR     BEAU^CAIRE 


country  gentleman  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. When  the  stately  junket  was 
concluded,  it  was  the  pleasure  of  M. 
de  Chateaurien  to  form  one  of  the 
escort  of  Lady  Mary's  carriage  for  the 
return.  As  they  took  the  road,  Sir 
Hugh  Guilford  and  Mr.  Bantison,  en- 
gaging in  indistinct  but  vigorous  re^ 
monstrance  with  Mr.  Molyneux  over 
some  matter,  fell  fifty  or  more  paces 
behind,  where  they  continued  to  ride, 
keeping  up  their  argument.  Half  a 
dozen  other  gallants  rode  in  advance, 
muttering  among  themselves,  or  at- 
tended laxly  upon  Lady  Mary's  aunt 
on  the  other  side  of  the  coach,  while 
the  happy  Frenchman  was  permitted 
to  ride  close  to  that  adorable  window 
which  framed  the  fairest  face  in  Eng- 
land. 

41 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

He  sang  for  her  a  little  French 
song,  a  song  of  the  voyageur  who 
dreamed  of  home.  The  lady,  listen- 
ing, looking  up  at  the  bright  moon, 
felt  a  warm  drop  upon  her  cheek,  and 
he  saw  the  tears  sparkling  upon  her 
lashes. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  whispered 
then,  "I,  too,  have  been  a  wanderer, 
but  my  dreams  were  not  of  France; 
no,  I  do  not  dream  of  that  home,  of 
that  dear  country.  It  is  of  a  dearer 
country,  a  dream  country — a  country 
of  gold  and  snow,"  he  cried  softly, 
looking  at  her  white  brow  and  the 
fair,  lightly  powdered  hair  above  it. 
"Gold  and  snow,  and  the  blue  sky  of 
a  lady's  eyes!" 

"I  had  thought  the  ladies  of 
France  were  dark,  sir." 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Cruel!  It  is  that  she  will  not 
understand  Have  I  speak  of  the 
ladies  of  France?  No,  no,  no!  It 
is  of  the  faires'  country;  yes,  'tis  a 
province  of  heaven,  mademoiselle. 
Do  I  not  renounce  my  allegiance  to 
France?  Oh,  yes!  I  am  subjec'— 
no,  content  to  be  slave — in  the  Ian* 
of  the  blue  sky,  the  gold,  and  the 
snow." 

"A  very  pretty  figure,"  answered 
Lady  Mary,  her  eyes  downcast.  "But 
does  it  not  hint  a  notable  experience 
in  the  making  of  such  speeches?" 

"Tormentress!  No.  It  prove' 
only  the  inspiration  it  is  to  know 
you." 

"We  English  ladies  hear  plenty  of 
the  like  sir;  and  t  we  even  grow  bril- 
liant enough  to  detect  the  assurance 
43 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

that  lies  beneath  the  courtesies  of  our 
own  gallants." 

"Merci!  I  should  believe  so!" 
ejaculated  M.  de  Chateaurien;  but  he 
smothered  the  words  upon  his  lips. 

Her  eyes  were  not  lifted.  She 
went  on:  "We  come,  in  time,  to  be- 
lieve that  true  feeling  comes  faltering 
forth,  not  glibly;  that  smoothness 
betokens  the  adept  in  the  art,  sir, 
rather  than  your  true — your  true — " 
She  was  herself  faltering;  more,  blush- 
ing deeply,  and  halting  to  a  full  stop 
in  terror  of  a  word.  There  was  a 
silence. 

"Your — true — lover,"  he.  said  hus- 
kily. When  he  had  said  that  word 
both  trembled.  She  turned  half  away 
into  the  darkness  of  the  coach. 

"I  know  what  make'  you  to  doubt 

44 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

me,"  he  said,  faltering  himself,  though 
it  was  not  his  art  that  prompted  him. 
"They  have  tol'  you  the  French  do 
nothing  al — ways  but  make  love,  is  it 
not  so?  Yes,  you  think  /  am  like 
that.  You  think  I  am  like  that 
now!" 

She  made  no  sign. 

"I  suppose,"  he  sighed,  "I  am  un- 
riz'nable;  I  would  have  the  snow  not 
so  col' — for  jus'  me." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Turn  to  me,"  he  said. 

The  fragrance  of  the  fields  came  to 
them,  and  from  the  distance  the  faint, 
clear  note  of  a  hunting-horn. 

"Turn  to  me." 

The  lovely  head  was  bent  very  low. 
Her  little  gloved  hand  lay  upon  the 
narrow  window  ledge.  He  laid  his 
45 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

own  gently  upon  it.  The  two  hands 
were  shakimg  like  twin  leaves  in  the 
breeze.  Hers  was  not  drawn  away. 
After  a  pause,  neither  knew  how 
long,  he  felt  the  warm  fingers  turn 
and  clasp  themselves  tremulously 
about  his  own.  At  last  she  looked 
up  bravely  and  met  his  eyes.  The 
horn  was  wound  again — nearer. 

"All  the  cold  was  gone  from  the 
snows — long  ago,"  she  said. 

"My  beautiful!"  he  whispered; 
it  was  all  he  could  say.  "My  beau- 
tiful!" But  she  clutched  his  arm, 
startled. 

"Ware  the  road!"  A  wild  halloo 
sounded  ahead.  The  horn  wound 
loudly.  "'Ware  the  road!"  There 
sprang  up  out  of  the  night  a  flying 
thunder  of  hoof-beats.  The  gentle- 
46 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

men  riding  idly  in  front  of  the  coach 
scattered  to  the  hedge-sides;  and, 
with  drawn  swords  flashing  in  the 
moon,  a  party  of  horsemen  charged 
down  the  highway,  their  cries  blast- 
ing the  night. 

"Barber!  Kill  the  barber!"  they 
screamed.  "Barber!  Kill  the  bar- 
ber!" 

Beaucaire  had  but  time  to  draw 
his  sword  when  they  were  upon  him. 

"A  mot!"  his  voice  rang  out  clearly 
as  he  rose  in  his  stirrups.  "A  moiy 
Frangois,  Louis,  Berquin!  A  mot, 
Frangois!" 

The  cavaliers  came  straight  at  him. 
He  parried  the  thrust  of  the  first,  but 
the  shock  of  collision  hurled  his  horse 
against  the  side  of  the  coach. 

"Sacred  swine!"  he  cried  bit- 
47' 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

terly.  "To  endanger  a  lady,  to  make 
this  brawl  in  a  lady's  presence!  Drive 
on!"  he  shouted. 

"No!"  cried  Lady  Mary. 

The  Frenchman's  assailants  were 
masked,  but  they  were  not  highway- 
men. "Barber!  Barber!"  they 
shouted  hoarsely,  and  closed  in  on 
him  in  a  circle. 

"See  how  he  use  his  steel!" 
laughed  M.  Beaucaire,  as  his  point 
passed  through  a  tawdry  waistcoat. 
For  a  moment  he  cut  through  the 
ring  and  cleared  a  space  about  him, 
and  Lady  Mary  saw  his  face  shining 
in  the  moonlight.  "Canaille!"  he 
hissed,  as  his  horse  sank  beneath  him; 
and,  though  guarding  his  head  from 
the  rain  of  blows  from  above,  he  man- 
aged to  drag  headlong  from  his  sad- 
48 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

die  the  man  who  had  hamstrung 
the  poor  brute.  The  fellow  came 
suddenly  to  the  ground,  and  lay 
there. 

"Is  it  not  a  compliment,"  said  a 
heavy  voice,  "to  bring  six  large  men 
to  subdue  monsieur?'* 

"Oh,  you  are  there,  my  frien'!  In 
the  rear — a  little  in  the  rear,  I  think. 
Ha,  ha!" 

The  Frenchman's  play  with  his 
weapon  was  a  revelation  of  skill,  the 
more  extraordinary  as  he  held  in  his 
hand  only  a  light  dress  sword.  But 
the  ring  closed  about  him,  and  his 
keen  defense  could  not  avail  him  for 
more  than  a  few  moments.  Lady 
Mary's  outriders,  the  gallants  of  her 
escort,  rode  up  close  to  the  coach  and 
encircled  it,  not  interfering. 
49 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"Sir  Hugh  Guilford!"  cried  Lady 
Mary  wildly,  "if  you  will  not  help 
him,  give  me  your  sword!"  She 
would  have  leaped  to  the  ground,  but 
Sir  Hugh  held  the  door. 

"Sit  quiet,  madam,"  he  said  to 
her;  then,  to  the  man  on  the  box, 
"Drive  on." 

"If  he  does,  I'll  kill  him!"  she 
said  fiercely.  "Ah,  what  cowards! 
Will  you  see  the  Duke  murdered?" 

"The  Duke!"  laughed  Guilford. 
"They  will  not  kill  him,  unless — be 
easy,  dear  madam,  'twill  be  explained. 
Gad's  life!"  he  muttered  to  Moly- 
neux,  "'Twere  time  the  varlet  had  his 
lashing!  D'ye  hear  her?" 

"Barber  or  no  barber,"  answered 
Molyneux,  "I  wish  I  had  warned 
him.  He  fights  as  few  gentlemen 
'50 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

could.  Ah — ah!  Look  at  that!  Tis 
a  shame!'' 

On  foot,  his  hat  gone,  his  white 
coat  sadly  rent  and  gashed,  flecked, 
too,  with  red,  M.  Beaucaire,  wary,' 
alert,  brilliant,  seemed  to  transform 
himself  into  a  dozen  fencing-masters; 
and,  though  his  skill  appeared  to  lie  in 
delicacy  and  quickness,  his  play  being 
continually  with  the  point,  sheer 
strength  failed  to  beat  him  down. 
The  young  man  was  laughing  like  a 
child. 

"Believe  me,"  said  Molyneux, 
"he's  no  barber!  No,  and  never 
was!" 

For  a  moment  there  was  even 
a  chance  that  M.  Beaucaire  might 
have  the  best  of  it.  Two  of  his  ad- 
versaries were  prostrate,  more  than 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

one  were  groaning,  and  the  indomi- 
table Frenchman  had  actually  almost 
beat  off  the  ruffians,  when,  by  a  trick, 
he  was  overcome.  One  of  them,  dis- 
mounting, ran  in  suddenly  from  be- 
hind, and  seized  his  blade  in  a  thick 
leather  gauntlet.  Before  Beaucaire 
could  disengage  the  weapon,  two  oth- 
ers threw  themselves  from  their  horses 
and  hurled  him  to  the  earth.  "A  moil 
A  mot,  Francois!"  he  cried  as  he  went 
down,  his  sword  in  fragments,  but  his 
voice  unbroken  and  clear. 

"Shame!"  muttered  one  or  two  of 
the  gentlemen  about  the  coach. 

"  'Twas  dastardly  to  take  him  so," 
said  Molyneux.  "Whatever  his  de- 
servings,  I'm  nigh  of  a  mind  to  offer 
him  a  rescue  in  the  Duke's  face." 

"Truss  him  up,  lads,"  said  the 
52 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

heavy  voice.  "  Clear  the  way  in  front 
of  the  coach.  There  sit  those  whom 
we  avenge  upon  a  presumptuous 
lackey.  Now,  Whiffen,  you  have  a 
fair  audience,  lay  on  and  baste  him." 

Two  men  began  to  drag  M.  Beau- 
caire  toward  a  great  oak  by  the  road- 
side. Another  took  from  his  saddle 
a  heavy  whip  with  three  thongs. 

"A  mot,  Francois!" 

,  There  was  borne  on  the  breeze 
an  answer — "  Monseigneur!  Monseig- 
neur!"  The  cry  grew  louder  sud- 
denly. The  clatter  of  hoofs  urged 
to  an  anguish  of  speed  sounded  on  the 
night.  M.  Beaucaire's  servants  had 
lagged  sorely  behind,  but  they  made 
up  for  it  now.  Almost  before  the 
noise  of  their  own  steeds  they  came 
riding  down  the  moonlit  aisle  be- 
53 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

tween  the  mists.  Chosen  men,  these 
servants  of  Beaucaire,  and  like  a 
thunderbolt  they  fell  upon  the  as- 
tounded cavaliers. 

"Chateaurien!  Chateaurien ! "  they 
shouted,  and  smote  so  swiftly  that, 
through  lack  of  time,  they  showed 
no  proper  judgment,  discriminating 
nothing  between  non-combatants  and 
their  master's  foes.  They  charged 
first  into  the  group  about  M.  Beau- 
caire, and  broke  and  routed  it  utterly. 
Two  of  them  leaped  to  the  young 
man's  side,  while  the  other  four, 
swerving,  scarce  losing  the  momen- 
tum of  their  onset,  bore  on  upon  the 
gentlemen  near  the  coach,  who  went 
down  beneath  the  fierceness  of  the 
onslaught,  cursing  manfully. 

"Our  just  deserts,"  said  Mr.  Moly- 
54' 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

neux,  his  mouth  full  of  dust  and  phi- 
losophy. 

Sir  Hugh  Guilford's  horse  fell  with 
him,  being  literally  ridden  over,  and 
the  baronet's  leg  was  pinned  under 
the  saddle.  In  less  than  ten  minutes 
from  the  first  attack  on  M.  Beaucaire, 
the  attacking  party  had  fled  in  dis- 
order, and  the  patrician  non-combat- 
ants, choking  with  expletives,  con- 
sumed with  wrath,  were  prisoners, 
disarmed  by  the  Frenchman's  lackeys. 

Guilford's  discomfiture  had  freed 
the  doors  of  the  coach;  so  it  was  that 
when  M.  Beaucaire,  struggling  to  rise, 
assisted  by  his  servants,  threw  out  one 
hand  to  balance  himself,  he  found  it 
seized  between  two  small,  cold  palms, 
and  he  looked  into  two  warm,  dilat- 
ing eyes,  that  were  doubly  beautiful 
55 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

because  of  the  fright  and  rage  that 
found  room  in  them,  too. 

M.  le  Due  Chateaurien  sprang  to 
his  feet  without  the  aid  of  his  lackeys, 
and  bowed  low  before  Lady  Mary. 

"I  make  ten  thousan'  apology  to 
be  the  cause  of  a  such  melee  in 
your  presence,"  he  said;  and  then, 
turning  to  Frangois,  he  spoke  in 
French:  "Ah,  thou  scoundrel!  A 
little,  and  it  had  been  too  late." 

Frangois  knelt  in  the  dust  before 
him.  "Pardon!"  he  said.  "Mon- 
seigneur  commanded  us  to  follow  far 
in  the  rear,  to  remain  unobserved. 
The  wind  malignantly  blew  against 
monseigneur's  voice." 

"See  what  it  might  have  cost,  my 
children,"  said  his  master,  pointing 
to  the  ropes  with  which  they  would 
56 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

have  bound  him  and  to  the  whip 
lying  beside  them.  A  shudder  passed 
over  the  lackey's  frame;  the  utter 
horror  in  his  face  echoed  in  the  eyes 
of  his  fellows. 

"Oh,  monseigneur!"  Frangois 
sprang  back,  and  tossed  his  arms  to 
heaven. 

"But  it  did  not  happen,"  said  M. 
Beaucaire. 

"It    could    not!'*    exclaimed    Fran- 


"No.  And  you  did  very  well,  my 
children  —  "  the  young  man  smiled 
benevolently  —  "very  well.  And  now," 
he  continued,  turning  to  Lady  Mary 
and  speaking  in  English,  "let  me  be 
asking  of  our  gallants  yonder  what 
make*  them  to  be  in  cabal  with  high- 
waymen. One  should  come  to  a 
57 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

polite  understanding  with  them,  you 
think?  Not  so?" 

He  bowed,  offering  his  hand  to 
conduct  her  to  the  coach,  where 
Molyneux  and  his  companions,  hav- 
ing drawn  Sir  Hugh  from  under  his 
horse,  were  engaged  in  reviving  and 
reassuring  Lady  Rellerton,  who  had 
fainted.  But  Lady  Mary  stayed 
Beaucaire  with  a  gesture,  and  the 
two  stood  where  they  were. 

"  Monseigneur ! "  she  said,  with  a 
note  of  raillery  in  her  voice,  but  rail- 
lery so  tender  that  he  started  with 
happiness.  His  movement  brought 
him  a  hot  spasm  of  pain,  and  he 
clapped  his  hand  to  a  red  stain  on  his 
waistcoat. 

"You  are  hurt!" 

"It  is  nothing,"  smiled  M.  Beau- 
58 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

caire.  Then,  that  she  might  not  see 
the  stain  spreading,  he  held  his  hand- 
kerchief over  the  spot.  "I  am  a 
little — but  jus'  a  trifling — bruise'; 
'tis  all." 

"You  shall  ride  in  the  coach,"  she 
whispered.  "Will  you  be  pleased, 
M.  de  Chateaurien?" 

"Ah,  my  beautiful!"  She  seemed 
to  wave  before  him  like  a  shining 
mist.  "I  wish  that  ride  might  las' 
for  al — ways!  Can  you  say  that, 
mademoiselle?" 

"  Monseigneur,"  she  cried  in  a  pas- 
sion of  admiration,  "I  would  what 
you  would  have  be,  should  be.  What 
do  you  not  deserve?  You  are  the 
bravest  man  in  the  world!" 

"Ha,  ha!  I  am  jus'  a  poor  French- 
man." 

59 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Would  that  a  few  Englishmen 
had  shown  themselves  as  'poor'  to- 
night. The  vile  cowards,  not  to  help 
you!"  With  that,  suddenly  possessed 
by  her  anger,  she  swept  away  from 
him  to  the  coach. 

Sir  Hugh,  groaning  loudly,  was 
being  assisted  into  the  vehicle. 

"My  little  poltroons,"  she  said, 
"what  are  you  doing  with  your 
fellow-craven,  Sir  Hugh  Guilford, 
there?" 

"Madam,"  replied  Molyneux  hum- 
bly, "Sir  Hugh's  leg  is  broken. 
Lady  Rellerton  graciously  permits 
him  to  be  taken  in." 

"/  do  not  permit  it!  M.  de 
Chateaurien  rides  with  us." 

"But " 

"Sir!  Leave  the  wretch  to  groan 
60 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

by  the  roadside,"  she  cried  fiercely, 
"which  plight  I  would  were  that  of 
all  of  you!  But  there  will  be  a  pretty 
story  for  the  gossips  to-morrow!  And 
I  could  almost  find  pity  for  you  when 
I  think  of  the  wits  when  you  return 
to  town.  Fine  gentlemen  you;  hardy 
bravos,  by  heaven!  to  leave  one  man 
to  meet  a  troop  of  horse  single- 
handed,  while  you  huddle  in  shelter 
until  you  are  overthrown  and  dis- 
armed by  servants!  Oh,  the  wits! 
Heaven  save  you  from  the  wits!" 

"Madam." 

"Address  me  no  more!  M.  de 
Chateaurien,  Lady  Rellerton  and  I 
will  greatly  esteem  the  honor  of  your 
company.  Will  you  come?" 

She  stepped  quickly  into  the  coach, 
and  was  gathering  her  skirts  to  make 
61 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

room  for  the  Frenchman,  when  a 
heavy  voice  spoke  from  the  shadows 
of  the  tree  by  the  wayside. 

"Lady  Mary  Carlisle  will,  no 
doubt,  listen  to  a  word  of  counsel  on 
this  point." 

The  Duke  of  Winterset  rode  out 
into  the  moonlight,  composedly  un- 
tieing a  mask  from  about  his  head. 
He  had  not  shared  the  flight  of  his 
followers,  but  had  retired  into  the 
shade  of  the  oak,  whence  he  now 
made  his  presence  known  with  the 
utmost  coolness. 

"Gracious  heavens,  'tis  Winter- 
set!"  exclaimed  Lady  Rellerton. 

"Turned  highwayman  and  cut- 
throat," cried  Lady  Mary. 

"No,  no,"  laughed  M.  Beaucaire, 
somewhat  unsteadily,  as  he  stood, 
62 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

swaying  a  little,  with  one  hand  on 
the  coach-door,  the  other  pressed 
hard  on  his  side,  "he  only  oversee'; 
he  is  jus'  a  little  bashful,  sometime'. 
He  is  a  great  man,  but  he  don'  want 
all  the  glory!" 

"Barber,"  replied  the  Duke,  "I 
must  tell  you  that  I  gladly  descend 
to  bandy  words  with  you;  your  mon- 
strous impudence  is  a  claim  to  rank 
I  cannot  ignore.  But  a  lackey  who 
has  himself  followed  by  six  other 
lackeys " 

"Ha,  ha!  Has  not  M.  le  Due 
been  busy  all  this  evening  to  justify 
me?  And  I  think  mine  mus'  be  the 
bes'  six.  Ha,  ha!  You  think?" 

"M.  de  Chateaurien,"  said  Lady 
Mary,  "we  are  waiting  for  you." 

"Pardon,"  he  replied.  "He  has 
63 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

something  to  say;  maybe  it  is  bes'  if 
you  hear  it  now." 

"I  wish  to  hear  nothing  from  him 
—ever!" 

"My  faith,  madam,"  cried  the 
Duke,  "this  saucy  fellow  has  paid 
you  the  last  insult!  He  is  so  sure  of 
you  he  does  not  fear  you  will  believe 
the  truth.  When  all  is  told,  if  you 
do  not  agree  he  deserved  the  lashing 
we  planned  to " 

"I'll  hear  no  more!" 

"You  will  bitterly  repent  it, 
madam.  For  your  own  sake  I  en- 
treat  " 

"And  I  also,"  broke  in  M.  Beau- 
caire.  "Permit  me,  mademoiselle; 
let  him  speak." 

"Then  let  him  be  brief,"  said 
Lady  Mary,  "for  I  am  earnest  to 
64 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

be  quit  of  him.  His  explanation  of 
an  attack  on  my  friend  and  on  my 
carriage  should  be  made  to  my 
brother." 

"A]#s  that  he  was  not  here,"  said 
the  Duke,  "to  aid  me!  Madam, 
was  your  carriage  threatened?  I  have 
endeavored  only  to  expunge  a  debt  I 
owed  to  Bath  and  to  avenge  an  insult 
offered  to  yourself  through 

"Sir,  sir,  my  patience  will  bear 
little  more!" 

"A  thousan'  apology,"  said  M. 
Beaucaire.  "You  will  listen,  I  only 
beg,  Lady  Mary?" 

She  made  an  angry  gesture  of 
assent. 

"Madam,  I  will  be  brief  as  I  may. 
Two  months  ago  there  came  to  Bath 
a  French  gambler  calling  himself 
65 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

Beaucaire,  a  desperate  fellow  with 
the  cards  or  dice,  and  all  the  men  of 
fashion  went  to  play  at  his  lodging, 
where  he  won  considerable  sums. 
He  was  small,  wore  a  black  wig  and 
mustachio.  He  had  the  insolence  to 
show  himself  everywhere  until  the 
Master  of  Ceremonies  rebuffed  him 
in  the  pump-room,  as  you  know,  and 
after  that  he  forbore  his  visits  to  the 
rooms.  Mr.  Nash  explained  (and 
was  confirmed,  madam,  by  indubit- 
able information)  that  this  Beaucaire 
was  a  man  of  unspeakable,  vile,  low 
birth,  being,  in  fact,  no  other  than  a 
lackey  of  the  French  king's  ambassa- 
dor, Victor  by  name,  de  Mirepoix's 
barber.  Although  his  condition  was 
known,  the  hideous  impudence  of 
the  fellow  did  not  desert  him,  and  he 
66 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

remained  in  Bath,  where  none  would 
speak  to  him." 

"Is  your  farrago  nigh  done,  sir?" 
"A  few  moments,  madam.  One 
evening,  three  weeks  gone,  I  ob- 
served a  very  elegant  equipage  draw 
up  to  my  door,  and  the  Duke  of 
Chateaurien  was  announced.  The 
young  man's  manners  were  worthy — 
according  to  the  French  acceptance 
— and  'twere  idle  to  deny  him  the 
most  monstrous  assurance.  He  de- 
clared himself  a  noble  traveling  for 
pleasure.  He  had  taken  lodgings  in 
Bath  for  a  season,  he  said,  and  called 
at  once  to  pay  his  respects  to  me. 
His  tone  was  so  candid — in  truth,  I 
am  the  simplest  of  men,  very  easily 
gulled — and  his  stroke  so  bold,  that  I 
did  not  for  one  moment  suspect  him; 
67 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

and,  to  my  poignant  regret — though 
in  the  humblest  spirit  I  have  shown 
myself  eager  to  atone — that  very 
evening  I  had  the  shame  of  present- 
ing him  to  yourself." 

"The  shame,  sir!" 

,  "Have  patience,  pray,  madam. 
Ay,  the  shame!  You  know  what  fig- 
ure he  hath  cut  in  Bath  since  that 
evening.  All  ran  merrily  with  him 
until  several  days  ago  Captain  Badger 
denounced  him  as  an  impostor,  vow- 
ing that  Chateaurien  was  nothing." 

"Pardon,"  interrupted  M.  Beau- 
caire.  "'Castle  Nowhere'  would 
have  been  so  much  better.  Why  did 
you  not  make  him  say  it  that  way, 
monsieur?" 

Lady  Mary  started;  she  was  look- 
ing at  the  Duke,  and  her  face  was 
68 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

white.     He     continued:     "Poor  Cap- 
tain  Badger   was   stabbed   that   same 

day " 

"Most      befitting      poor      Captain 
Badger,"  muttered  Molyneux. 

— And  his  adversary  had  the  mar- 
velous insolence  to  declare  that  he 
fought  in  my  quarrel!  This  after- 
noon the  wounded  man  sent  for  me, 
and  imparted  a  very  horrifying  intel- 
ligence. He  had  discovered  a  lackey 
whom  he  had  seen  waiting  upon 
Beaucaire  in  attendance  at  the  door 
of  this  Chateaurien's  lodging.  Beau- 
caire had  disappeared  the  day  before 
Chateaurien's  arrival.  Captain  Badger 
looked  closely  at  Chateaurien  at 
their  next  meeting,  and  identified 
him  with  the  missing  Beaucaire  be- 
yond the  faintest  doubt.  Overcome 
69 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

with  indignation,  he  immediately 
proclaimed  the  impostor.  Out  cf 
regard  for  me,  he  did  not  charge  him 
with  being  Beaucaire;  the  poor  soul 
was  unwilling  to  put  upon  me  the 
humiliation  of  having  introduced  a 
barber;  but  the  secret  weighed  upon 
him  till  he  sent  for  me  and  put 
everything  in  my  hands.  I  accepted 
the  odium;  thinking  only  of  atone- 
ment. I  went  to  Sir  John  Wimple- 
don's  fete.  I  took  poor  Sir  Hugh, 
there,  and  these  other  gentlemen 
aside,  and  told  them  my  news.  We 
narrowly  observed  this  man,  and  were 
shocked  at  our  simplicity  in  not  hav- 
ing discovered  him  before.  These 
are  men  of  honor  and  cool  judgment, 
madam.  Mr.  Molyneux  had  acted 
for  him  in  the  affair  of  Captain 
70 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

Badger,  and  was  strongly  prejudiced 
in  his  favor;  but  Mr.  Molyneux,  Sir 
Hugh,  Mr.  Bantison,  every  one  of 
them,  in  short,  recognized  him.  In 
spite  of  his  smooth  face  and  his  light 
hair,  the  adventurer  Beaucaire  was 
writ  upon  him  amazing  plain.  Look 
at  him,  madam,  if  he  will  dare  the 
inspection.  You  saw  this  Beaucaire 
well,  the  day  of  his  expulsion  from 
the  rooms.  Is  not  this  he?" 

M.  Beaucaire  stepped  close  to  her. 
Her  pale  face  twitched. 

"Look!  "he  said. 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  whispered  with  a 
dry  throat,  and  fell  back  in  the  car- 
riage. 

"Is  it  so?"  cried  the  Duke. 

"I  do  not  know. — I — cannot  tell." 

"One     moment     more.     I     begged 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

these  gentlemen  to  allow  me  to  wipe 
out  the  insult  I  had  unhappily  offered 
to  Bath,  but  particularly  to  you. 
They  agreed  not  to  forestall  me  or  to 
interfere.  I  left  Sir  John  Wimpledon's 
early,  and  arranged  to  give  the  sorry 
rascal  a  lashing  under  your  own  eyes, 
a  satisfaction  due  the  lady  into  whose 
presence  he  had  dared  to  force  him- 
self." 

"'Noblesse  oblige'?"  said  M.  Beau- 
caire  in  a  tone  of  gentle  inquiry. 

"And  now,  madam,"  said  the 
Duke,  "I  will  detain  you  not  one 
second  longer.  I  plead  the  good 
purpose  of  my  intentions,  begging 
you  to  believe  that  the  desire  to 
avenge  a  hateful  outrage,  next  to  the 
wish  to  serve  you,  forms  the  dearest 
motive  in  the  heart  of  Winterset." 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Bravo!"  cried  Beaucaire  softly. 

Lady  Mary  leaned  toward  him,  a 
thriving  terror  in  her  eyes.  "It  is 
false?"  she  faltered. 

"Monsieur  should  not  have  been 
born  so  high.  He  could  have  made 
little  book'." 

"You  mean  it  is  false?"  she  cried 
breathlessly. 

"'Od's  blood,  is  she  not  con- 
vinced?" broke  out  Mr.  Bantison. 
"Fellow,  were  you  not  the  ambassa- 
dor's barber?" 

"It  is  all  false?"  she  whispered. 

"The  mos'  fine  art,  mademoiselle. 
How  long  you  think  it  take  M.  de 
Winterset  to  learn  that  speech  after 
he  write  it  out?  It  is  a  mix  of  what 
is  true  and  the  mos*  chaste  art.  Mon- 
sieur has  become  a  man  of  letters. 
73 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

Perhaps  he  may  enjoy  that  more  than 
the  wars.     Ha,  ha!" 

Mr.  Bantison  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter.  "Do  French  gentlemen 
fight  lackeys?  Ho,  ho,  ho!  A 
pretty  country!  We  English  do  as 
was  done  to-night,  have  our  servants 
beat  them." 

"And  attend  ourselves,"  added  M. 
Beaucaire,  looking  at  the  Duke, 
"somewhat  in  the  background?  But, 
pardon,"  he  mocked,  "that  remind' 
me.  Francois,  return  to  Mr.  Bantison 
and  these  gentlemen  their  weapons." 
"Will  you  answer  a  question?" 
said  Molyneux  mildly. 

"Oh,  with  pleasure,  monsieur." 
"Were  you  ever  a  barber?" 
"No,      monsieur,"      laughed       the 
young  man. 

74 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Pah!"  exclaimed  Bantison. 
"Let  me  question  him.  Now,  fel- 
low, a  confession  may  save  you  from 
jail.  Do  you  deny  you  are  Beau- 
caire?" 

"Deny  to  a  such  judge?" 

"Ha!"  said  Bantison.  "What  more 
do  you  want,  Molyneux?  Fellow,  do 
you  deny  that  you  came  to  London 
in  the  ambassador's  suite?" 

"No,  I  do  not  deny." 

"He  admits  it!  Didn't  you  come 
as  his  barber?" 

"Yes,  my  frien',  as  his  barber." 

Lady  Mary  cried  out  faintly,  and, 
shuddering,  put  both  hands  over  her 
eyes. 

" I'm  sorry,"  said  Molyneux.  "You 
fight  like  a  gentleman." 

"I  thank  you,  monsieur." 
75 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"You  called  yourself  Beaucaire?" 

"Yes,  monsieur."  He  was  sway- 
ing to  and  fro;  his  servants  ran  to 
support  him. 

"I  wish — "  continued  Molyncux, 
hesitating.  "Evil  take  me! — but  I'm 
sorry  you're  hurt." 

"Assist  Sir  Hugh  into  my  car- 
riage," said  Lady  Mary. 

"Farewell,  mademoiselle!"  M. 
Beaucaire's  voice  was  very  faint.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  face.  She 
did  not  look  toward  him. 

They  were  propping  Sir  Hugh  on 
the  cushions.  The  Duke  rode  up 
close  to  Beaucaire,  but  Francois  seized 
his  bridle  fiercely,  and  forced  the 
horse  back  on  its  haunches. 

"The  man's  servants  worship  him," 

said  Molyneux. 

76 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"Curse  your  insolence!**  exclaimed 
the  Duke.  "How  much  am  I  to 
bear  from  this  varlet  and  his  varlets? 
Beaucaire,  if  you  have  not  left  Bath 
by  to-morrow  noon,  you  will  be 
clapped  into  jail,  and  the  lashing  you 
escaped  to-night  shall  be  given  you 
thrice  tenfold!" 

"I  shall  be — in  the — Assembly — 
Room*  at  nine — o'clock,  one  week 
— from — to-night,"  answered  the 
young  man,  smiling  jauntily,  though 
his  lips  were  colorless.  The  words 
cost  him  nearly  all  his  breath  and 
strength.  "You  mus*  keep — in  the 
— backgroun*,  monsieur.  Ha,  ha!" 

The  door  of  the  coach  closed  with 
a  slam. 

"  Mademoiselle— fare— well ! " 

"Drive  on!"  said  Lady  Mary. 
77 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

M.  Beaucaire  followed  the  carriage 
with  his  eyes.  As  the  noise  of  the 
wheels  and  the  hoof-beats  of  the  ac- 
companying cavalcade  grew  fainter 
in  the  distance,  the  handkerchief  he 
had  held  against  his  side  dropped  in- 
to the  white  dust,  a  heavy  red  splotch. 

"Only — roses,"  he  gasped,  and  fell 
back  in  the  arms  of  his  servants. 


tEAU  NASH  stood  at 
the  door  of  the  rooms, 
smiling  blandly  upon 
a  dainty  throng  in 
the  pink  of  its  finery 
and  gay  furbelows.  The  great  ex- 
quisite bent  his  body  constantly  in  a 
series  of  consummately  adjusted  bows: 
before  a  great  dowager,  seeming  to 
sweep  the  floor  in  august  deference; 
somewhat  stately  to  the  young  bucks; 
greeting  the  wits  with  gracious 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

friendliness  and  a  twinkle  of  raillery; 
inclining  with  fatherly  gallantry  be- 
fore the  beauties;  the  degree  of  his 
inclination  measured  the  altitude  of 
the  recipient  as  accurately  as  a  nicely 
calculated  sand-glass  measures  the 
hours. 

The  King  of  Bath  was  happy,  for 
wit,  beauty,  fashion — to  speak  more 
concretely:  nobles,  belles,  gamesters, 
beaux,  statesmen,  and  poets — made 
fairyland  (or  opera  bouffe,  at  least) 
in  his  dominions;  play  ran  higher 
and  higher,  and  Mr.  Nash's  coffers 
filled  up  with  gold.  To  crown  his 
pleasure,  a  prince  of  the  French 
blood,  the  young  Comte  de  Beaujo- 
lais,  just  arrived  from  Paris,  had 
reached  Bath  at  noon  in  state,  ac- 
companied by  the  Marquis  de  Mire- 
80 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

poix,  the  ambassador  of  Louis  XV. 
The  Beau  dearly  prized  the  society  of 
the  lofty,  and  the  present  visit  was  an 
honor  to  Bath:  hence  to  the  Master 
of  Ceremonies.  What  was  better, 
there  would  be  some  profitable  hours 
with  the  cards  and  dice.  So  it  was 
that  Mr.  Nash  smiled  never  more  be- 
nignly than  on  that  bright  evening. 
The  rooms  rang  with  the  silvery 
voices  of  women  and  delightful 
laughter,  while  the  fiddles  went  mer- 
rily, their  melodies  chiming  sweetly 
with  the  joyance  of  his  mood. 

The  skill  and  brazen  effrontery  of 
the  ambassador's  scoundrelly  servant 
in  passing  himself  off  for  a  man  of 
condition  formed  the  point  of  de- 
parture for  every  conversation.  It 
was  discovered  that  there  were  but 

81 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

three  persons  present  who  had  not 
suspected  him  from  the  first;  and,  by 
a  singular  paradox,  the  most  astute  of 
all  proved  to  be  old  Mr.  Bicksit,  the 
traveler,  once  a  visitor  at  Chateau- 
rien;  for  he,  according  to  report,  had 
by  a  coup  of  diplomacy  entrapped  the 
impostor  into  an  admission  that  there 
was  no  such  place.  However,  like 
poor  Captain  Badger,  the  worthy  old 
man  had  held  his  peace  out  of  regard 
for  the  Duke  of  Winterset.  This 
nobleman,  heretofore  secretly  dis- 
liked, suspected  of  irregular  devices 
at  play,  and  never  admired,  had  won 
admiration  and  popularity  by  his  re- 
morse for  the  mistake,  and  by  the 
modesty  of  his  attitude  in  endeavor- 
ing to  atone  for  it,  without  presum- 
ing upon  the  privilege  of  his  rank  to 
82 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

laugh  at  the  indignation  of  society; 
an  action  the  more  praiseworthy 
because  his  exposure  of  the  impostor 
entailed  the  disclosure  of  his  own 
culpability  in  having  stood  the  vil- 
lain's sponsor.  To-night,  the  happy 
gentleman,  with  Lady  Mary  Carlisle 
upon  his  arm,  went  grandly  about 
the  rooms,  sowing  and  reaping  a 
harvest  of  smiles.  'Twas  said  work 
would  be  begun  at  once  to  rebuild 
the  Duke's  country  seat,  while  sev- 
eral ruined  Jews  might  be  paid  out 
of  prison.  People  gazing  on  the 
beauty  and  the  stately  but  modest 
hero  by  her  side,  said  they  would 
make  a  noble  pair.  She  had  long 
been  distinguished  by  his  attentions, 
and  he  had  come  brilliantly  out  of 
the  episode  of  the  Frenchman,  who 
83 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

had  been  his  only  real  rival.  Wher- 
ever they  went,  there  arose  a  buzz  of 
pleasing  gossip  and  adulation. 

Mr.  Nash,  seeing  them  near  him, 
came  forward  with  greetings.  A 
word  on  the  side  passed  between  the 
nobleman  and  the  exquisite. 

"I  had  news  of  the  rascal  to- 
night/* whispered  Nash.  "He  lay 
at  a  farm  till  yesterday,  when  he  dis- 
appeared; his  ruffians,  too." 

"You  have  arranged?"  asked  the 
Duke. 

"Fourteen  bailiffs  are  watching 
without.  He  could  not  come  within 
gunshot.  If  they  clap  eyes  on  him, 
they  will  hustle  him  to  jail,  and  his 
cutthroats  shall  not  avail  him  a  hair's 
weight.  The  impertinent  swore  he'd 
be  here  by  nine,  did  he?" 
84 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCA1RE 

"He  said  so;  and  'tis  a  rash  dog, 
sir." 

"It  is  just  nine  now." 

"Send  out  to  see  if  they  have 
taken  him." 

"Gladly."  The  Beau  beckoned 
an  attendant,  and  whispered  in  his 
ear. 

Many  of  the  crowd  had  edged  up 
to  the  two  gentlemen  with  apparent 
carelessness,  to  overhear  their  conver- 
sation. Those  who  did  overhear  re- 
peated it  in  covert  asides,  and  this 
circulating  undertone,  confirming  a 
vague  rumor  that  Beaucaire  would 
attempt  the  entrance  that  night,  lent 
a  pleasurable  color  of  excitement  to 
the  evening.  The  French  prince, 
the  ambassador,  and  their  suites  were 
announced.  Polite  as  the  assembly 
85 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

was,  it  was  also  curious,  and  there 
occurred  a  mannerly  rush  to  see  the 
newcomers.  Lady  Mary,  already 
pale,  grew  whiter  as  the  throng 
closed  round  her;  she  looked  up 
pathetically  at  the  Duke,  who  lost 
no  time  in  extricating  her  from  the 
pressure. 

"Wait  here,"  he  said;  "I  will 
fetch  you  a  glass  of  negus,"  and  dis- 
appeared. He  had  not  thought  to 
bring  a  chair,  and  she,  looking  about 
with  an  increasing  faintness  and  find- 
ing none,  saw  that  she  was  standing 
by  the  door  of  a  small  side-room. 
The  crowd  swerved  back  for  the 
passage  of  the  legate  of  France,  and 
pressed  upon  her.  She  opened  the 
door,  and  went  in. 

The  room  was  empty  save  for  two 
86 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

gentlemen,  who  were  quietly  playing 
cards  at  a  table.  They  looked  up  as 
she  entered.  They  were  M.  Beau- 
caire  and  Mr.  Molyneux. 

She  uttered  a  quick  cry  and  leaned 
against  the  wall,  her  hand  to  her 
breast.  Beaucaire,  though  white  and 
weak,  had  brought  her  a  chair  before 
Molyneux  could  stir. 

"Mademoiselle — 

"Do  not  touch  me!"  she  said,  with 
such  frozen  abhorrence  in  her  voice 
that  he  stopped  short.  "Mr.  Moly- 
neux, you  seek  strange  company!" 

"Madam,"  replied  Molyneux,  bow- 
ing deeply,  as  much  to  Beaucaire  as 
to  herself,  "I  am  honored  by  the 
presence  of  both  of  you." 

"Oh,     are     you     mad!"     she     ex- 
claimed, contemptuously. 
87 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"This  gentleman  has  exalted  me 
with  his  confidence,  madam,"  he 
replied. 

"Will  you  add  your  ruin  to  the 
scandal  of  this  fellow's  presence  here? 
How  he  obtained  entrance ' 

"Pardon,  mademoiselle,"  inter- 
rupted Beaucaire.  "Did  I  not  say  I 
should  come?  M.  Molyneux  was  so 
obliging  as  to  answer  for  me  to  the 
fourteen  frien's  of  M.  de  Winterset 
and  Meestaire  Nash." 

"Do  you  not  know,"  she  turned 
vehemently  upon  Molyneux,  "that 
he  will  be  removed  the  moment  I 
leave  this  room?  Do  you  wish  to  be 
dragged  out  with  him?  For  your 
sake,  sir,  because  I  have  always 
thought  you  a  man  of  heart,  I  give 
you  a  chance  to  save  yourself  from 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

disgrace — and — your  companion  from 
jail.  Let  him  slip  out  by  some  re- 
tired way,  and  you  may  give  me 
your  arm  and  we  will  enter  the  next 
room  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
Come,  sir " 

"Mademoiselle " 

"Mr.  Molyneux,  I  desire  to  hear 
nothing  from  your  companion.  Had 
I  not  seen  you  at  cards  with  him  I 
should  have  supposed  him  in  attend- 
ance as  your  lackey.  Do  you  desire 
to  take  advantage  of  my  offer,  sir?" 

"Mademoiselle,  I  could  not  tell 
you,  on  that  night " 

"You  may  inform  your  high-born 
friend,  Mr.  Molyneux,  that  I  heard 
everything  he  had  to  say;  that  my 
pride  once  had  the  pleasure  of  listen- 
ing to  his  high-born  confession!" 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"Ah,  it  is  gentle  to  taunt  one  with 
his  birth,  mademoiselle?  Ah,  no! 
There  is  a  man  in  my  country  who 
say  strange  things  of  that — that  a 
man  is  not  his  father,  but  himself." 

"You  may  inform  your  friend,  Mr. 
Molyneux,  that  he  had  a  chance  to 
defend  himself  against  accusation; 
that  he  said  all " 

"That  I  did  say  all  I  could  have 
strength  to  say.  Mademoiselle,  you 
did  not  see — as  it  was  right — that  I 
had  been  stung  by  a  big  wasp.  It 
was  nothing,  a  scratch;  but,  made- 
moiselle, the  sky  went  round  and  the 
moon  dance'  on  the  earth.  I  could 
not  wish  that  big  wasp  to  see  he  had 
stung  me;  so  I  mus'  only  say  what  I 
can  have  strength  for,  and  stan' 

straight     till     he     is    gone.     Beside', 
90 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

there  are  other  rizzons.  Ah,  you 
mus'  belief!  My  Molyneux  I  sen' 
for,  and  tell  him  all,  because  he  show 
courtesy  to  the  yo'ng  Frenchman, 
and  I  can  trus'  him.  I  trus'  you, 
mademoiselle — long  ago — and  would 
have  tol*  you  ev'rything,  excep*  jus' 
because — well,  for  the  romance,  the 
fon!  You  belief?  It  is  so  clearly 
so;  you  do  belief,  mademoiselle?" 

She  did  not  even  look  at  him.  M. 
Beaucaire  lifted  his  hand  appealingly 
toward  her.  "Can  there  be  no  faith 
in — in — "  he  said  timidly,  and 
paused.  She  was  silent,  a  statue,  my 
Lady  Disdain. 

"If  you  had  not  belief  me  to  be 

an   impostor;   if  I   had   never  said   I 

was   Chateaurien;  if  I  had  been  jus* 

that  Monsieur  Beaucaire  of  the  story 

91 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

they  toP  you,  but  never  with  the 
heart  of  a  lackey,  an  hones*  man,  a 
man,  the  man  you  knew,  himself ", 
could  you — would  you —  He  was 
trying  to  speak  firmly;  yet,  as  he 
gazed  upon  her  splendid  beauty,  he 
choked  slightly,  and  fumbled  in  the 
lace  at  his  throat  with  unsteady  fing- 
ers.— "Would  you — have  let  me  ride 
by  your  side  in  the  autumn  moon- 
light?" Her  glance  passed  by  him  as 
it  might  have  passed  by  a  footman  or 
a  piece  of  furniture.  He  was  dressed 
magnificently,  a  multitude  of  orders 
glittering  on  his  breast.  Her  eye 
took  no  knowledge  of  him. 

"Mademoiselle — I  have  the  honor 
to  ask  you:  if  you  had  known  this 
Beaucaire  was  hones',  though  of 

peasant  birth,  would  you " 

92   - 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

Involuntarily,  controlled  as  her  icy 
presence  was,  she  shuddered.  There 
was  a  moment  of  silence. 

"Mr.  Molyneux,"  said  Lady  Mary, 
"in  spite  of  your  discourtesy  in  al- 
lowing a  servant  to  address  me,  I 
offer  you  a  last  chance  to  leave  this 
room  undisgraced.  Will  you  give 
me  your  arm?" 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Molyneux. 

Beaucaire  dropped  into  a  chair 
with  his  head  bent  low  and  his  arm 
outstretched  on  the  table;  his  eyes 
filled  slowly  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
two  tears  rolled  down  the  young 
man's  cheeks. 

"An*  live  men  are  jus' — names!" 
said  M.  Beaucaire. 


93 


the  outer  room, 
Winterset,  unable  to 
find  Lady  Mary,  and 
supposing  her  to  have, 
joined  Lady  Reller- 
ton,  disposed  of  his  negus,  then  ap- 
proached the  two  visitors  to  pay  his 
respects  to  the  young  prince,  whom 
he  discovered  to  be  a  stripling  of 
seventeen,  arrogant-looking,  but  pretty 
as  a  girl.  Standing  beside  the  Mar- 
quis de  Mirepoix — a  man  of  quiet 

94 


A  Paramount  Picture.  Monsieur  Beaucaire. 

Lady  Mary's  rose  had  thorns  for  Beaucaire. 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

bearing — he  was  surrounded  .by  a 
group  of  the  great,  among  whom 
Mr.  Nash  naturally  counted  himself. 
The  Beau  was  felicitating  himself 
that  the  foreigners  had  not  arrived  a 
week  earlier,  in  which  case  he  and 
Bath  would  have  been  detected  in  a 
piece  of  gross  ignorance  concerning 
the  French  nobility — making  much 
of  de  Mirepoix's  ex-barber. 

"Tis  a  lucky  thing  that  fellow 
was  got  out  of  the  way,"  he  ejacu- 
lated, under  cover. 

"Thank  me  for  it,"  rejoined 
Winterset. 

An  attendant  begged  Mr.  Nash's 
notice.  The  head  bailiff  sent  word 
that  Beaucaire  had  long  since  entered 
the  building  by  a  side  door.  It  was 
supposed  Mr.  Nash  had  known  of  it, 
95 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

and  the  Frenchman  was  not  arrested, 
as  Mr.  Molyneux  was  in  his  com- 
pany, and  said  he  would  be  answerable 
for  him.  Consternation  was  so  plain 
on  the  Beau's  trained  face  that  the 
Duke  leaned  toward  him  anxiously. 

"The  villain's  in,  and  Molyneux 
hath  gone  mad!'* 

Mr.  Bantison,  who  had  been 
fiercely  elbowing  his  way  toward 
them,  joined  heads  with  them.  "You 
may  well  say  he  is  in,"  he  exclaimed, 
"and  if  you  want  to  know  where, 
why,  in  yonder  card-room.  I  saw 
him  through  the  half-open  door." 

"What's  to  be  done?"  asked  the 
Beau. 

"Send  the  bailiffs " 

"Fie,  fie!  A  file  of  bailiffs?  The 
scandal!" 

96 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Then  listen  to  me,"  said  the 
Duke.  "I'll  select  half-a-dozen 
gentlemen,  explain  the  matter,  and 
we'll  put  him  in  the  center  of  us  and 
take  him  out  to  the  bailiffs.  'Twill 
appear  nothing.  Do  you  remain  here 
and  keep  the  attention  of  Beaujolais 
and  de  Mirepoix.  Come,  Bantison, 
fetch  Townbrake  and  Harry  Rakell 
yonder;  I'll  bring  the  others." 

Three  minutes  later,  his  Grace  of 
Winterset  flung  wide  the  card-room 
door,  and,  after  his  friends  had  en- 
tered, closed  it. 

"Ah!"  remarked  M.  Beaucairc 
quietly.  "Six  more  large  men." 

The     Duke,     seeing    Lady     Mary, 

started;   but   the   angry   signs   of  her 

interview  had  not  left  her  face,  and 

reassured  him.     He  offered  his  hand 

97 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

to   conduct  her   to   the  door.     "May 
I  have  the  honor?" 

"If  this  is  to  be  known,  'twill  be 
better  if  I  leave  after;  I  should  be 
observed  if  I  went  now." 

"As  you  will,  madam,"  he  an- 
swered, not  displeased.  "And  now, 
you  impudent  villain,"  he  began, 
turning  to  M.  Beaucaire,  but  to  fall 
back  astounded.  "'Od's  blood,  the 
dog  hath  murdered  and  robbed  some 
royal  prince!"  He  forgot  Lady 
Mary's  presence  in  his  excite- 
ment. "Lay  hands  on  him!"  he 
shouted.  "Tear  those  orders  from 
him!" 

Molyneux    threw    himself   between. 
"One   word!"   he   cried.     "One   word 
before  you  offer  an  outrage  you  will 
repent  all  your  lives!" 
98 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"Or  let  M.  de  Winterset  come 
alone,"  laughed  M.  Beaucaire. 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  fight  a  cut- 
throat barber,  and  with  bare  hands?" 

"I  think  one  does  not  expec'  mon- 
sieur to  fight  anybody.  Would  / 
fight  you,  you  think?  That  was  why 
I  had  my  servants,  that  evening  we 
play.  I  would  gladly  fight  almos* 
any  one  in  the  worl';  but  I  did  not 
wish  to  soil  my  hand  with  a " 

"Stuff  his  lying  mouth  with  his 
orders!"  shouted  the  Duke. 

But  Molyneux  still  held  the  gen- 
tlemen back.  "One  moment,"  he 
cried. 

"M.  de  Winterset,"  said  Beau- 
caire, "of  what  are  you  afraid?  You 
calculate  well.  Beaucaire  might  have 
been  belief — an  impostor  that  you 

93 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

yourself  expose'?  Never!  But  I  was 
not  goin'  reveal  that  secret.  You 
have  not  absolve  me  of  my  promise." 

"Tell  what  you  like,"  answered 
the  Duke.  "Tell  all  the  wild  lies 
you  have  time  for.  You  have  five 
minutes  to  make  up  your  mind  to  go 
quietly." 

"Now  you  absolve  me,  then? 
Ha,  ha!  Oh,  yes!  Mademoiselle," 
he  bowed  to  Lady  Mary,  "I  have 
the  honor  to  reques'  you  leave  the 
room.  You  shall  miss  no  details  if 
these  frien's  of  yours  kill  me,  on  the 
honor  of  a  French  gentleman." 

"A  French  what?"  laughed  Ban- 
tison. 

"Do  you  dare  keep  up  the  pre- 
tense?" cried  Lord  Townbrake. 
"Know,  you  villain  barber,  that  your 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

master,  the  Marquis  de  Mirepoix,  is 
in  the  next  room." 

Molyneux  heaved  a  great  sigh  of 
relief.  "  Shall  I— "  He  turned  to 
M.  Beaucaire. 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  said: 
"Tell  him  come  here  at  once." 

"Impudent  to  the  last!"  cried 
Bantison,  as  Molyneux  hurried  from 
the  room. 

"Now  you  goin'  to  see  M.  Beau- 
caire's  master,"  said  Beaucaire  to  Lady 
Mary.  ' '  'Tis  true  what  I  say,  the  other 
night.  I  cross  from  France  in  his 
suite;  my  passport  say  as  his  barber. 
Then  to  pass  the  ennui  of  exile,  I 
come  to  Bath  and  play  for  what  one 
will.  It  kill  the  time.  But  when  the 
people  hear  I  have  been  a  servant 
they  come  only  secretly;  and  there  is 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

one  of  them — he  has  absolve*  me  of 
a  promise  not  to  speak — of  him  I 
learn  something  he  cannot  wish  to  be 
tol*.  I  make  some  trouble  to  learn 
this  thing.  Why  I  should  do  this? 
Well — that  is  my  own  rizzon.  So  I 
make  this  man  help  me  in  a  masque, 
the  unmasking  it  was,  for,  as  there  is 
no  one  to  know  me,  I  throw  off  my 
black  wig  and  become  myself — and 
so  I  am  *  Chateaurien,'  Castle  No- 
where. Then  this  man  I  use',  this 
Winterset,  he— 

"I  have  great  need  to  deny  these 
accusations?"  said  the  Duke. 

"Nay,"  said  Lady  Mary  wearily. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  mus'  be 
'Victor'  and  'Beaucaire'  and  'Cha- 
teaurien,' and  not  myself?" 

"To    escape    from    the    bailiffs    for 

102 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

debts  for  razors  and  soap,"  gibed 
Lord  Townbrake. 

"No,  monsieur.  In  France  I  have 
got  a  cousin  who  is  a  man  with  a 
very  bad  temper  at  some  time',  and 
he  will  never  enjoy  his  relatives  to  do 
what  he  does  not  wish ' 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  com- 
motion from  without.  .  The  door  was 
flung  open,  and  the  young  Count  of 
Beaujolais  bounded  in  and  threw  his 
arms  about  the  neck  of  M.  Beaucaire. 

"Philippe!"  he  cried.  "My 
brother,  I  have  come  to  take  you 
back  with  me." 

M.  de  Mirepoix  followed  him, 
bowing  as  a  courtier,  in  deference; 
but  M.  Beaucaire  took  both  his  hands 
heartily.  Molyneux  came  after,  with 

Mr.  Nash,  and  closed  the  door. 

1 03 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

"My  warmest  felicitations,"  said 
the  Marquis.  "There  is  no  longer 
need  for  your  incognito." 

"Thou  best  of  masters!"  said 
Beaucaire,  touching  him  fondly  on 
the  shoulder.  "I  know.  Your  cou- 
rier came  safely.  And  so  I  am  for- 
given! But  I  forget."  He  turned 
to  the  lady.  She  had  begun  to 
tremble  exceedingly.  "Faires'  of  all 
the  English  fair,"  he  said,  as  the 
gentlemen  bowed  low  to  her  deep 
courtesy,  "I  beg  the  honor  to  pre- 
sen'  to  Lady  Mary  Carlisle,  M.  le 
Comte  de  Beaujolais.  M.  de  Mirepoix 
has  already  the  honor.  Lady 
Mary  has  been  very  kind  to  me, 
my  frien's;  you  mus*  help  me  make 
my  acknowledgment.  Mademoi- 
selle and  gentlemen,  will  you  give 
104 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

me  that  favour  to  detain  you  one 
instan'?" 

"Henri,"  he  turned  to  the  young 
Beaujolais,  "I  wish  you  had  shared 
my  masque — I  have  been  so  gay!" 
The  surface  of  his  tone  was  merry, 
but  there  was  an  undercurrent,  weary- 
sad,  to  speak  of  what  was  the  mc-od, 
not  the  manner.  He  made  the  effect 
of  addressing  every  one  present,  but 
he  looked  steadily  at  Lady  Mary. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him, 
with  a  silent  and  frightened  fas- 
cination, and  she  trembled  more  and 
more.  "I  am  a  great  actor,  Henri. 
These  gentlemen  are  yet  scarce  con- 
vince* I  am  not  a  lackey!  And  I  mus' 
tell  you  that  I  was  jus'  now  to  be  ex- 
pelled for  having  been  a  barber!" 

"Oh,  no!"  the  ambassador  cried 
105 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

out.  "He  would  not  be  content  with 
me;  he  would  wander  over  a  strange 
country." 

"Ha,  ha,  my  Mirepoix!  And 
what  is  better,  one  evening  I  am  ob- 
lige' to  fight  some  frien's  of  M.  de 
Winterset  there,  and  some  ladies  and 
cavaliers  look  on,  and  they  still  think 
me  a  servant.  Oh,  I  am  a  great  ac- 
tor! 'Tis  true  there  is  not  a  peasant 
in  France  who  would  not  have  then 
known  one  'born';  but  they  are 
wonderful,  this  English  people,  hold- 
ing by  an  idea  once  it  is  in  their 
heads — a  mos'  worthy  quality.  But 
my  good  Molyneux  here,  he  had 
speak  to  me  with  courtesy,  jus'  be- 
cause I  am  a  man  an'  jus'  because  he 
is  al — ways  kind.  (I  have  learn'  that 
his  great-grandfather  was  a  French- 
106 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

man.)  So  I  sen'  to  him  and  tell  him 
ev'rything,  and  he  gain  admittance  for 
me  here  to-night  to  await  my  frien's. 

"I  was  speaking  to  messieurs  about 
my  cousin,  who  will  meddle  in  the 
affair'  of  his  relative'.  Well,  that 
gentleman,  he  make  a  marriage  for 
me  with  a  good  and  accomplish' 
lady,  very  noble  and  very  beautiful — 
and  amiable."  (The  young  count  at 
his  elbow  started  slightly  at  this,  but 
immediately  appeared  to  wrap  him- 
self in  a  mantle  of  solemn  thought.) 
"Unfortunately,  when  my  cousin  ar- 
range' so,  I  was  a  dolt,  a  little  block- 
head; I  swear  to  marry  for  myself 
and  when  I  please,  or  never  if  I  like. 
That  lady  is  all  things  charming  and 
gentle,  and,  in  truth,  she  is — very 
much  attach'  to  me — why  should  I 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

not  say  it?  I  am  so  proud  of  it. 
She  is  very  faithful  and  forgiving  and 
sweet;  she  would  be  the  same,  I 
think,  if  I — were  even — a  lackey. 
But  I  ?  I  was  a  dolt,  a  little  unsen- 
sible  brute;  I  did  not  value  such 
thing'  then;  I  was  too  yo'ng,  las' 
June.  So  I  say  to  my  cousin,  'No, 
I  make  my  own  choosing!'  'Little 
fool,'  he  answer,  'she  is  the  one  for 
you.  Am  I  not  wiser  than  you?' 
And  he  was  very  angry,  and,  as  he 
has  influence  in  France,  word  come' 
that  he  will  get  me  put  in  Vincennes, 
so  I  mus'  run  away  quick  till  his 
anger  is  gone.  My  good  frien'  Mire- 
poix  is  jus'  leaving  for  London;  he 
take'  many  risk'  for  my  sake;  his 
hairdresser  die  before  he  start',  so  I 
travel  as  that  poor  barber.  But  my 

108 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

cousin  is  a  man  to  be  afraid  of  when 
he  is  angry,  even  in  England,  and  I 
mus'  not  get  my  Mirepoix  in  trouble. 
I  mus'  not  be  discover'  till  my  cousin 
is  ready  to  laugh  about  it  all  and 
make  it  a  joke.  And  there  may  be 
spies;  so  I  change  my  name  again, 
and  come  to  Bath  to  amuse  my  re- 
treat with  a  little  gaming — I  am 
al — ways  fond  of  that.  But  three  day' 
ago  M.  le  Marquis  send  me  a  courier 
to  say  that  my  brother,  who  know 
where  I  had  run  away,  is  come  from 
France  to  say  that  my  cousin  is  ap- 
pease'; he  need  me  for  his  little 
theatre,  the  play  cannot  go  on.  I  do 
not  need  to  espouse  mademoiselle. 
All  shall  be  forgiven  if  I  return,  and 
my  brother  and  M.  de  Mirepoix  will 
meet  me  in  Bath  to  felicitate. 
109 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

"There  is  one  more  thing  to  say, 
that  is  all.  I  have  said  I  learn'  a 
secret,  and  use  it  to  make  a  man  in- 
troduce me  if  I  will  not  tell.  He 
has  absolve'  me  of  that  promise. 
My  frien's,  I  had  not  the  wish  to 
ruin  that  man.  I  was  not  receive'; 
Meestaire  Nash  had  reboff  me;  I  had 
no  other  way  excep'  to  use  this  fel- 
low. So  I  say,  'Take  me  to  Lady 
Malbourne's  ball  as  "Chateaurien."' 
I  throw  off  my  wig,  and  shave,  and 
behol',  I  am  M.  le  Due  de  Castle 
Nowhere.  Ha,  ha!  You  see?" 

The  young  man's  manner  suddenly 
changed.  He  became  haughty,  men- 
acing. He  stretched  out  his  arm, 
and  pointed  at  Winterset.  "Now  I 
am  no  'Beaucaire,'  messieurs.  I  am 
a  French  gentleman.  The  man  who 


A  Paramount  Picture.  Monsieur  Beaucaire. 

The  Duke  assists  Lady  Mary  to  alight. 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

introduce'  me  at  the  price  of  his 
honor,  and  then  betray'  me  to  re- 
deem it,  is  that  coward,  that  card- 
cheat  there!" 

Winterset  made  a  horrible  effort  to 
laugh.  The  gentlemen  who  sur- 
rounded him  fell  away  as  from  pesti- 
lence. "A  French  gentleman!"  he 
sneered  savagely,  and  yet  fearfully. 
"I  don't  know  who  you  are.  Hide 
behind  as  many  toys  and  ribbons  as 
you  like;  I'll  know  the  name  of 
the  man  who  dares  bring  such  a 
charge!" 

"Sir!"  cried  de  Mirepoix  sharply, 
advancing  a  step  towards  him;  but 
he  checked  himself  at  once.  He 
made  a  low  bow  of  state,  first  to  the 
young  Frenchman,  then  to  Lady 
Mary  and  the  company.  "Permit 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

me,  Lady  Mary  and  gentlemen,'*  he 
said,  "to  assume  the  honor  of  pre- 
senting you  to  His  Highness,  Prince 
Louis-Philippe  de  Valois,  Duke  of 
Orleans,  Duke  of  Chartres,  Duke  of 
Nemours,  Duke  of  Montpensier,  First 
Prince  of  the  Blood  Royal,  First  Peer 
of  France,  Lieutenant-General  of 
French  Infantry,  Governor  of  Dau- 
phine,  Knight  of  the  Golden  Fleece, 
Grand  Master  of  the  Order  of  Notre 
Dame,  of  Mount  Carmel,  and  of  St. 
Lazarus  in  Jerusalem;  and  cousin  to 
His  most  Christian  Majesty,  Louis 
the  Fifteenth,  King  of  France/' 

"Those  are  a  few  of  my  brother's 
names,"  whispered  Henri  of  Beaujo- 
lais  to  Molyneux.  "Old  Mirepoix 
has  the  long  breath,  but  it  take'  a 
strong  man  two  day'  to  say  all  of 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

them.  I  can  suppose  this  Winterset 
know'  now  who  bring  the  charge!" 

"Castle  Nowhere!"  gasped  Beau 
Nash,  falling  back  upon  the  burly 
prop  of  Mr.  Bantison's  shoulder. 

"The  Duke  of  Orleans  will  re- 
ceive a  message  from  me  within  the 
hour!"  said  Winterset,  as  he  made 
his  way  to  the  door.  His  face  was 
black  with  rage  and  shame. 

"I  to!'  you  that  I  would  not  soil 
my  hand  with  you,"  answered  the 
young  man.  "If  you  send  a  message 
no  gentleman  will  bring  it.  Who- 
ever shall  bear  it  will  receive  a  little 
beating  from  Frangois." 

He   stepped   to  Lady   Mary's   side. 

Her    head    was    bent    low,    her    face 

averted.     She  seemed  to  breathe  with 

difficulty,  and  leaned  heavily  upon  a 

"3 


MONSIEUR     BEAUCAIRE 

chair.  "Monseigneur,"  she  faltered 
in  a  half  whisper,  "can  you — forgive 
me?  It  is  a  bitter — mistake — I  have 
made.  Forgive." 

"Forgive?"  he  answered,  and  his 
voice  was  as  broken  as  hers;  but  he 
went  on,  more  firmly:  "It  is — noth- 
ing— less  than  nothing.  There  is — 
only  jus'  one — in  the — whole  worl' 
who  would  not  have  .treat'  me  the 
way  that  you  treat'  me.  It  is  to  her 
that  I  am  goin'  to  make  reparation. 
You  know  something,  Henri?  I 

am  not  goin'  back  only  because  the 
king  forgive'  me.  I  am  goin'  to  please 
him;  I  am  goin'  to  espouse  mademoi- 
selle, our  cousin.  My  frien's,  I  ask 
your  felicitations." 

"And    the    king    does    not    compel 
him!"  exclaimed  young  Henri. 
114 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

" Henri,  you  want  to  fight  me?" 
cried  his  brother  sharply.  "Don' 
you  think  the  King  of  France  is  a 
wiser  man  than  me?" 

He  offered  his  hand  to  Lady  Mary. 

"Mademoiselle  is  fatigue'.  Will 
she  honor  me?" 

He  walked  with  her  to  the  door, 
her  hand  fluttering  faintly  in  his. 
From  somewhere  about  the  garments 
of  one  of  them  a  little  cloud  of  faded 
rose-leaves  fell,  and  lay  strewn  on  the 
floor  behind  them.  He  opened  the 
door,  and  the  lights  shone  on  a  multi- 
tude of  eager  faces  turned  toward  it. 
There  was  a  great  hum  of  voices, 
and,  over  all,  the  fiddles  wove  a  wan- 
dering air,  a  sweet  French  song  of 
the  voyageur. 

He  bowed  very  low,  as,  with  fixed 
"5 


MONSIEUR    BEAUCAIRE 

and  glistening  eyes,  Lady  Mary  Car- 
lisle, the  Beauty  of  Bath,  passed 
slowly  by  him  and  went  out  of  the 
room. 

THE    END 


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